The girls nod enthusiastically.
‘They need to be stripped down to their undies,’ Ms Hartley snaps. ‘And girls, you need to get some more panties!’
Nervous excited laughter fills the studio as this group of lovely young women bounce out of the studio and through a door at the far end of the room. I stare at Ms Hartley with slightly puzzled eyes and her enigmatic smile returns.
‘Don’t worry, Shelly, you’ll love every second of it.’
I moan into my utterly inescapable gag and know that, whatever kinky fate she has planned for me, I will indeed enjoy every single ultra-erotic second of it! It is then that she and my Aunt untie the cord binding our arms so tightly behind our backs and help us out of our pretty, sissy outer attire. And, as the girls begin to return, each one carrying a pair of white silk panties, they discover us clad only in our testing high heels and rather similar underwear – in my case the Senso rubber body stocking and in Rupert’s case a white nylon body stocking, with the added bonus of a heavily be-frilled ‘cock hole’ out of which his tightly rubber-restrained cock rises angrily and desperately.
The girls stare in surprise at Rupert’s impressive and profoundly male sex and then at my large expertly manufactured breasts with their long helpless and permanently hard nipples.
‘This is what we’re working towards, ladies. The sissies we are playing with today are the perfect visual truth of the great battle we are waging.’
The girls nod absent-mindedly, their eyes betraying an interest that has very little to do with the intricate philosophies of the Bigger Picture.
More lengths of rope and a thick roll of Senso plaster tape are quickly produced.
‘I want you to practise the classic immobilising hog-tie,’ Ms Hartley says. ‘Sally and Bree can go first.’
The two girls step forward, Sally a petite large-breasted redhead, probably no more than eighteen, Bree, a slimmer but still well-proportioned beauty with thick glossy blonde hair and very long and shapely legs that are perfectly complemented by the sheer black nylon tights of the leotard.
‘Remove the existing gags first, but be very careful.’
Ms Hartley then orders us to kneel before the two girls and place our hands behind our backs with our wrists crossed. We obey, of course, kneeling carefully, our eyes widening with aroused fear.
I feel the pointed stiletto heels press into the soft rubber-sealed flesh of my helplessly shapely bottom and a shudder of dark masochistic need passes across my straining ultra-sensitive breasts.
My trainee mistress will be Bree. As she kneels down before me, I smell her sweat mixed with sex and a surprisingly strong perfume. She has large blue eyes that look into mine with a confusing mixture of contempt, desire and sympathy. She says nothing as she very gently pulls the thick white plaster-like tape from my lips and then rather gingerly extracts Ms Gillette’s panties. Sally undertakes the same delicate operation with Rupert, pulling his mother’s slightly large heavily be-frilled panties from his girlish mouth with a look of genuine sadistic fascination.
Bree places Ms Gillette’s panties on the floor and then, in a firm yet also mocking voice, tells me to ‘open wide’. She folds the panties in the classic manner – the damp gusset exposed – and then slips them into my mouth. At first they won’t fit, and Ms Hartley shows her how to make a small, more robust ball. Then, finally, I am re-gagged and savour the taste of this striking athletic beauty’s most intimate regions. Ms Hartley provides the girls with two small pairs of scissors to cut lengths of tape from the rolls provided to seal the fat tasty gags in place. Our heavy sex-framed breathing fills the room as the tape is pressed hard against our painted lips. We both moan with helplessly sissy pleasure and poor Rupert’s rubberised sex rises up before a clearly impressed Sally as she completes an intricate layered taping of his helplessly pouting lips.
Then the gags are complete and the girls are ordered to help us down onto our stomachs. Under Ms Hartley’s able guidance, they are then shown how to bind our wrists with the rubber cording.
‘Use two lengths, crossed in opposite directions and with double knots. Always make sure the wrists are crossed and touching. If you use this style, there is no real need to tie the ropes too tightly unless, of course, the bondage is part of a punishment.’
After the wrists, our elbows are bound with a truly punitive tightness, leaving them nearly touching and our arms completely unmovable. We moan into the panty gags with genuine pain and a strange swoon of delight passes amongst the girls.
‘Good,’ Ms Hartley whispers, obviously impressed by their binding technique! Then, with equal precision, our legs are secured with more cording at the ankles, knees and lower thighs. I feel my cock press through the rubber body stocking into the cool wooden floor of the studio and a quiver of delightful masochistic surrender flows across my body as my muscles flex uselessly against the expert bindings.
‘Now the hog-tie proper,’ Ms Hartley says. ‘The key is immobilisation without damaging the body. Again, this can be achieved without unnecessary tightness.’
We see nothing of what happens next. Face down, tethered without mercy, we can only await our fates with a subdued feminine helplessness.
Eventually, I feel the hog-tie cord being attached to my ankles and then hands are pulling my feet upwards, towards my hips. I squeal at the painful stretching pressure that follows, despite the fact that it is something I have experienced many times before.
The hog-tie is, in fact, very tight. By the time Bree has finished tying the free end of the cording to my wrists, the rubber-sealed soles of my feet are nearly pressing into the palms of my hands! Yet Ms Hartley makes no comment on the severity of this bondage. As tears of pain well up in my sex-addled eyes, I know that she is testing not only the young ladies of the Ambrose Academy, but also me.
Then we are left helpless and tormented. Bree and Sally step back, and Ms Hartley begins a disturbingly clinical discussion about their techniques.
After about five minutes of discussion, we are quickly released by Bree and Sally and then hauled back onto our knees.
‘Right, next we’ll have Mary and Sam.’
And so it goes on, for at least an hour. We are bound and panty-gagged ten times each, subjected to the hands of a variety of very beautiful and terribly keen young women, all eager to demonstrate to Ms Hartley how good they are at securing pretty, helpless and totally submissive sissies! And all the while, as I am so expertly and erotically tethered, I find myself squealing with the most profound and painfully precise pleasure, my head rising up from the floor and beholding my tightly bound and equally aroused sissy comrades.
Then, finally, we are pulled up from the floor. The girls help us back into our lovely sissy costumes with eager teasing hands and then replace our original bondage. The thick scent of mad sex fills the air.
Aunt Jane and Ms Hartley have spent most of the hour chatting quietly in a corner and now they return to us, smiling, relaxed, in total control.
‘Shelly and Rupert need to leave now,’ Aunt Jane says. ‘I think the other sissies need your attentions now. It would be helpful if their restrainers could be lubricated.’
Evil mischief and sexual arousal fills the girls’ eyes and, laughing cruelly, they turn their wicked attentions to the wide-eyed squealing sissies tied to the chairs.
We are led from the room and dressed again in our outrageously sexy sissy clothing, our heads spinning, our bodies aching, and the sweet teasing taste of ten teenage sexes filling our mouths, as well as the intimate flavours of our gorgeous unyielding mistresses, whose soft silken panties once again silence us completely and utterly behind a wall of thick duct tape.
Soon after leaving the studio, we are separated. As we totter towards the landing, Lillian Ambrose appears, her eyes filled with dark irony and perverse desire.
‘Glynis would like to see Shelly now, Jane. I will take Rupert to the kitchen. There’s lots of washing up and ironing to finish before lunch.’
&n
bsp; Rupert looks over at me with a sudden fearful desperation and then up at his beautifully buxom mother.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘Glynis has agreed that Shelly can help you and the other sissies serve at the special Executive Group dinner and assist with your afternoon chores. Then, as a very special treat, the two of you can spend the rest of the day and the night together – just as promised, my sissy petal.’
Rupert’s eyes widen with a dreadful anticipation and he moans with ambiguous need into the fat gag. I look at him with a helpless longing. Lillian takes him by the hand and leads him off down the stairs. My eyes fall upon his very tight hotpanted bottom wiggling with such instinctively girlish enthusiasm and a sense of real joy washes over my tested sissy form.
Then, to my surprise, we do not follow Rupert and Lillian Ambrose down the stairs, but instead I am led by my lovely aunt across the landing and down the second corridor which runs off it, a slightly narrower corridor bordered by unmarked doors that leads to another set of dark-red double doors.
The doors are at the top of a series of long thickly carpeted steps and, as we climb them, the bells attached to my pretty, testing ankle boots ring down the corridor behind me.
Aunt Jane knocks gently and enters. I follow her, my heart pounding, my cock straining, my mind filled with thoughts of sexy doe-eyed Rupert!
Then we are standing in a large brightly lit room, very much at odds with the design and age of the rest of the house. This is a modern apartment designed with care, restraint and considerable taste. The overall theme is minimalist, but there is a very real hint of a strong feminine personality.
The walls are large white expanses dotted with a few carefully positioned works of contemporary art. I notice the exact clear lines and unambiguous colours of Piet Mondrian and Frank Stella.
In the centre of the room is a large metal-framed table with a wide glass top. Ms Glynis Ambrose is sitting at the table working on a laptop computer. She is still dressed in the formal very attractive attire worn in her office, but now she seems much more relaxed.
She looks over at me with softer warmer eyes, and I detect a flash of powerful sexual arousal.
‘I hear Jane took you to meet the ladies and that you assisted in a learning experience.’
I curtsey meekly and her rather beautiful smile widens.
‘She really is a little darling,’ Lillian says, looking over to Aunt Jane. ‘I can’t wait until we have Rupert properly transformed. The two of them look so lovely together. And just imagine when Ruppi has boobs!’
Aunt Jane smiles and nods, her eyes pinned to the lithe form of Lillian Ambrose, her own desire intense and very obvious.
‘I’ll bring her downstairs in time for the lunch. The Group is meeting now?’
Aunt Jane looks at her watch and nods. ‘Yes. In five minutes. I have to go.’
Ms Ambrose nods, clearly slightly annoyed by her exclusion from the Executive Group meeting, but there is also an acceptance in her eyes.
Aunt Jane looks at me and smiles.
‘Be nice to Ms Ambrose, Shelly,’ she whispers, then kisses me on the forehead and leaves.
As soon as Aunt Jane closes the door, Ms Ambrose sits back in her large leather office chair and looks at me more carefully, her striking green eyes appraising, considering, planning.
‘They really have done a marvellous job on you and your friends, Shelly.’
She laughs to herself and then stands up. She turns and walks towards a door at the rear of the room.
‘Follow me,’ she says, without looking back.
I perform an unseen curtsey and totter after her, the sound of the tiny bells secured to my ankles filling the room.
I follow the statuesque beauty into a large bedroom decorated in the same minimal style as the main living area. The double bed at the heart of the room has a deceptively slender metal frame and a very thin mattress covered in white silk sheets. Besides the bed, there is a white bedside table, a chest of drawers and a walk-in closet. The only other item of furniture is a large packed white bookcase. There are no pictures, no mirrors, not even a chair or dressing table.
Glynis Ambrose sits on the bed and gestures for me to stand before her. Her eyes run over my body like analytical laser beams, consuming and logging every detail of my sissification, eager for information on the secret processes that have led to my creation.
‘Amazing,’ she whispers to herself. ‘Absolutely amazing.’
She tells me to kneel before her. I obey without question, lowering my feminised form onto rubber-sheathed knees so that my eyes are level with her hosed knees.
‘Emily Ashcroft told me you gave her the best orgasm she had ever experienced.’ Tightly gagged, I can say nothing, and any gesture would, at this stage, be either confusing or arrogant.
‘Ruppi really hasn’t been given the opportunity to provide me with any kind of real physical pleasure. His mother is rather possessive about that particular area.’
I look up at her then and see a fierce sexual need. Yes: she is in a state of some considerable arousal. As if to confirm this, she parts her legs so that I can see into the sensual sex-scented darkness beyond.
A slight moan of excitement manages to escape my own fat panty gag. Glynis Ambrose leans forward and carefully works free the duct tape sealing my lips and holding Ms Gillette’s pungent panties firmly in place. She eases the panties out of my mouth, her eyes never leaving mine. I feel my heart speed up as the erotic power of her gaze, a blatant sexual demand, grips my body and insists on absolute submission.
She then rises up off the bed so that she is towering before me, a striking wondrous giantess. Slowly, teasingly, she gently wiggles out of the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in one dramatic plunging gesture. Then, her hands on her hips, she parts her legs and stands directly over me.
‘Worship me!’ she shouts.
I look up and the tip of my nose brushes against the tight sex-soaked gusset of her tights. She is wearing no panties and it is almost immediately clear that her sex is shaven.
I press my tongue against the front of the gusset section and run it over the nylon-sheathed outline of her sex. She gasps with a dreadful, almost desperate pleasure. Drops of her savoury sex juice drip though the gusset of the tights and onto my tongue. I push the tip of my tongue a little harder against her sex. Her gasps turn immediately into surprisingly girlish squeals of delight.
‘Yes,’ she whispers, ‘that’s it. Right there. Right fucking there!’
It is clear she must have been in an aroused state for some time, for she comes violently and loudly within a few minutes of my forced intervention, soaking my face in the process. Indeed, as the first of a number of high magnitude sex quakes crashes across her splendid body, her nyloned thighs suddenly press against the sides of my head and for a few awful seconds my skull is being crushed! I cry out in genuine pain and she suddenly releases her grip. Then, she falls back onto the bed, her breathing laboured, hard, angry, violently sexed.
I try to sit up. I lick her cum from my lips and blink away those drops that threaten to trickle into my eyes, astonished and furiously aroused.
‘Get up,’ she gasps. ‘Up here.’
With my arms bound behind my back at the wrists and elbows, it is extremely difficult to edge myself up to my high-heeled feet; indeed, after a few seconds of useless struggle, I am forced to edge myself up the bed and then rather precariously push myself upright.
I find myself staring down at Glynis Ambrose’s body, her legs wide apart, her arms thrown out above her head, her large breasts rising and falling with agonised exaltation.
‘Get up here. On the bed. Now.’
I manage to clamber up onto the bed and hover over her, my face soaked, my eyes wide, my cock threatening to burn through the rubber restrainer and plunge deep into her there and then.
‘Take the tights off,’ she gasps. ‘With your teeth. Pull them down and get back to it. Fuck me with your mouth.’
Aston
ished, yet also wild with an unyielding and cruelly denied desire, I wiggle forward on my knees and then virtually fall flat on my face between her legs. I manage to haul my face up over her drenched nylon-sheathed sex and grasp the waist band of her tights with my teeth. Then a deeply absurd and desperate ballet of crazed wiggling begins as I try to haul the tights over her hips and down her legs.
This strange jig eventually comes to an exhausted end when I manage to get her tights down to her lower thighs. In the process of wiggling over her body, I have managed to arouse her even more and, by the time I apply my sore but willing tongue to her copiously leaking slit, she is primed to explode with a new and equally rapid force. Indeed, within a few seconds, she is bucking and screaming, her black sex-drenched obscenities filling the room with a cloud of chaotic humanity that is carefully absent from the Spartan interior design, and which betrays a common truth about the monster that lurks at the heart of the overly controlling personality.
After this second orgasm, things change very rapidly. She sits up abruptly, wipes a cooling hand across her forehead and then looks down at me.
‘Very good. Yes. Exactly what the doctor ordered. Now get off the bed and stand to attention.’
I struggle off the bed and quickly pull myself to my high-heeled feet. Beneath the rubber body stocking, my body is coated in a thick film of hot sweat. I feel dizzy and very uncomfortable.
‘We need to get you ready for the lunch. And me.’
In the next hour, Ms Glynis Ambrose demonstrates a cool determined efficiency more in tune with the personality of her quarters and her role as the headmistress of this strange academy.
I am taken to the bathroom, quickly stripped of my clothing and then plunged under a hot shower. Immediately, I am reminded of my earlier adventure with Ms Gillette, but this is a very different washing: Ms Ambrose has no interest in teasing my silken she-male form. She merely tells me to clean myself as quickly as possible and then return to the bedroom.
I use a heavily scented bar of pink soap and a thick pink cream shampoo. I wash my body in a semi-trance, my rubber-sealed violently erect sex rising before me with a renewed and dreadful desperation. I use thick pink towels that hang from silver racks to dry my silken form and moan with helpless pleasure as the soft material teases my achingly hard nipples. A white silk robe hangs from the bathroom door and I slip this over my pneumatic she-male frame before tottering back into the bedroom.
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