Ms Ambrose is now dressed in a black silk suit and gleaming black patent leather ankle boots with striking five-inch heels. She has carefully redone her make-up and looks both beautiful and powerful. Yes: she is the ideal dominatrix and I am her helpless sissy slave.
On the bed is my new costume: a simple, but still highly sexual French maid’s costume, with a black satin heavily be-frilled and very short dress, a white silk pinafore, very sheer black tights and a pair of modestly heeled court shoes. Black silk panties, a rubber mini-corset and a black silk bra make up this new attire. Before dressing, I am taken into the walk-in closet, which contains a small dressing table and full-length mirror. Here, my make-up is carefully retouched and my hair dried and styled. Once again, Ms Ambrose is matter of fact, but also careful and exact. She recreates my unique sissy look with very little effort and I am impressed by her skills.
She then supervises my dressing, directly helping me with only the corset and the bra. None of the clothing is Senso impregnated, yet it is all made from very fine, obviously expensive materials and it all appears brand new.
Once I am fully attired, she stands back and studies me very carefully, arousal returning to her beautiful determined gaze.
‘Good,’ she whispers. ‘Very good.’
Then I am ordered to follow her from the room. I curtsey deeply and totter after her, my large breasts teased delightfully by the soft silk bra and bouncing sensually before me, my silk-pantied bottom wiggling helplessly, the taste of Ms Ambrose’s sex still lingering on my cherry-coloured lips.
I follow her back down the long corridor to the landing and then down the wide stairway to the entrance hall. We walk quickly across the hall over to two very large black doors. These seem to open miraculously as Ms Ambrose approaches to reveal a vast cavernous hall dominated by a very long wooden table, at which sit the young ladies of this erotic academy. At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, is another shorter table. Seated here are Ms Blakemore, Aunt Jane, Lillian Ambrose, Ms Hartley, and, to my surprise, the lovely gentle Mistress Donna. Next to Mistress Donna is a vaguely stunned-looking Mistress Helen and next to Mistress Helen is Lady Emily Ashcroft and Ms Mary Gillette.
‘Report to Ms Bloom,’ Glynis Ambrose snaps. ‘She will show you what to do.’ She then points to the opposite end of the hall, where there is another long table and what initially appear to be three women – one dressed in a variation of the costume worn by Ms Hartley and her associates, and two more maids.
Ms Ambrose matches off to the high table and I totter towards the rear of the hall, very conscious of the fact that the room has now fallen very quiet and that the eyes of virtually every young lady are upon my buxom sissy form, a fact I find both intimidating and furiously exciting.
Ms Bloom is a plump brunette in her late forties. She wears the same gleaming white silk blouse as Ms Hartley, but her skirt is much longer, made of a shimmering black velvet that reaches down to black nylon-sheathed ankles and feet resting in three-inch stiletto-heeled black leather court shoes. Her lovely hair has been bound into a tight bun by a diamond-studded clasp and there is an air of threatening power about her that is immediate and impressive.
She looks at me with severe but rather beautiful honey-brown eyes, and I feel a quiver of masochistic pleasure course through my sissified body.
‘We’ll serve the first course now,’ she says, her voice deep, firm, erotically powerful.
It is then that I look over at the other two maids and experience deep surprise and even deeper pleasure, for the first maid, dressed exactly as myself, is Rupert.
And he looks absolutely gorgeous! And standing next to him is Myriam. To find her here is not a surprise, but the manner of her costume certainly is. She is dressed in exactly the same maid’s attire as Rupert and myself, but the punitive nature of Myriam’s position is made apparent by the fact that a large red rubber ball gag has been strapped into her mouth and her wrists are held by rubber shackles that are attached to silver chains, which are, in turn, attached to a thick black leather punishment belt fixed to her waist.
‘Yes,’ Ms Bloom says, voice cold, cruel, amused. ‘I’m afraid Myriam is being punished. Ms Gillette has asked me to pay special attention to her today.’
The three of us are quickly set to work by Ms Bloom. We take bowls of soup spread out on the table behind us and carry them, three at a time, on silver trays to the central dining table. Here the beautiful cool-eyed young ladies of the Ambrose Academy take the bowls from the trays, thanking us with mocking voices and desiring smiles. I feel hands slip beneath my short skirt and teasingly caress my hosed thighs. I fight an urge to moan with painfully acute masochistic pleasure.
As I serve, I note that each girl is wearing a strikingly and deliberately erotic uniform. Each of these buxom teenagers is clad in a very tight red woollen sweater, a white silk blouse and a red Academy tie. They also wear very short grey pleated skirts. Their inevitably long and shapely legs are sheathed in semi-opaque black tights, and their feet are sensually imprisoned in three-inch stiletto-heeled black leather court shoes. They wear their hair in tight buns and each seems to have full teasing lips painted the exact same shade of blood red.
Despite the novelty of having a full-blown SMC sissy in the room, the girls are also very interested in Rupert. It is clear that he has never been dressed in full sissy attire before and the maid’s costume is a very effective way of demonstrating just how pretty and naturally feminine he actually is.
Towards the end of the third course, Glynis Ambrose rises from her seat at the main table and brings the students to order.
‘Today is an extremely important day,’ she says, her voice confident, clear, authoritative. ‘Today we embrace fully our sisters from the Bigger Picture. Today, we formally become part of a great historical mission. Also, today, the path of the Bigger Picture has been set clearly and firmly.’
Ms Ambrose sits and a tense electric silence fills the room. Then Ms Blakemore rises, still clad in her striking white silk uniform, and faces the students of the Ambrose Academy.
‘I would like to thank Ms Ambrose for letting us meet here today. It is a gesture of good will and also a profound act of partnership. The Executive Group of the Bigger Picture has now met and agreed that the values and methods of the Moderate Perspective will remain its official ideological position. It has also been agreed that I will now act as its Chief Executive Officer, supported on the business side by Mistresses Helen and Donna and on the political side by Lady Emily Ashcroft.
‘Although we have defeated the Radicals here, the battle must continue for some time. You will play a major part in the struggle that is to come. Together we will truly change and create history. It will be an honour and a privilege to lead you.’
The speech is surprisingly nervous and short, even abrupt. And when Ms Blakemore sits down, there is a moment of confused silence, before Glynis Ambrose suddenly starts clapping very enthusiastically, inspiring others at the main table to join in and then the students themselves to erupt.
After the lunch is over, the maids, including myself, are led out via a back door into a huge, hot and chaotic kitchen. During the next two hours we are set to work washing up the lunch plates and other pots and pans and then thoroughly cleaning the kitchen. This is relentlessly hard work and overseen by Ms Bloom with a quite ruthless determination. To my horror, she watches us like a hawk as we struggle with our domestic load and is not averse to applying a viscious ivory-handled riding crop to our hosed thighs if we fail or flag. She is particularly keen to punish poor Myriam, who sobs despairingly into her fat ball gag under the repeated application of the crop. Indeed, it is clear that this sort of treatment is horribly normal and that Ms Bloom gets a powerful sado-erotic thrill from punishing the beautiful young woman.
It is nearly 4.00 p.m. by the time we are allowed to leave the kitchen. Rupert and I are told to report to Lillian Ambrose and Ms Bloom leads a terrified and clearly reluctant Myriam off to her own private
quarters located in the old servants’ quarters beneath the kitchen.
I follow Rupert wearily from the kitchen and back out into the entrance hall. Then we totter back up the wide staircase. My eyes consider his very long, perfectly shaped legs with a fetishist’s intense and perverse care. These are the legs of a beautiful girl, legs made hyper-erotic by the sheerest of black nylon hose and gleaming black leather stilettos. He is utterly gorgeous and it is a crime that he has yet to be fully and properly sissified.
Eventually, we stand before a door along one of the two corridors leading off the staircase landing. He looks at me with wide beautiful green eyes and I smile nervously.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers.
‘And so are you,’ I reply, my sissy voice a pure sex tool.
He knocks lightly on the door and Lillian Ambrose’s voice snaps a curt ‘come!’ He opens the door and we both mince into a large living room.
Lillian Ambrose is sitting on a large red leather sofa next to my gorgeous beloved Aunt Jane. She has changed into a dark-blue dress, black tights and modestly heeled black leather mules. Her hair has been released from her usual bun prison and is spilling over her broad shoulders like a waterfall made golden by the late afternoon light that pours through the French-windowed balcony beyond. Aunt Jane is dressed in a long black silk dress that reaches down to her black hosed ankles and a pair of three-inch-heeled black leather court shoes. She looks utterly amazing.
Rupert curtsies and I follow suit. The women smile and beckon us forward. The softness in my aunt’s eyes betrays informality and a maternal love.
‘You really do look so good together,’ she says, her eyes lit by a very real sexual thrill.
Rupert blushes and whispers a soft ‘thank you’. The sense of resistance in him seems to have disappeared completely. He appears quite overwhelmed by a dark need for this feminisation.
Aunt Jane looks at me and her smile widens. ‘I have agreed that you can spend the night with Rupert. This evening there will be a formal dinner to celebrate the Moderate victory and the other sissies will service the event. You two have worked hard and can rest. In the morning, Rupert will return with us to begin his formal training and the process of physical transformation. You will be his maid trainer. Do you understand?’
I nod and curtsey deeply.
‘Very good. Now both of you kneel before us.’
We obey without question, our skirts rising up to reveal our pretty, heavily be-frilled panties as we lower ourselves onto our knees.
The two beautiful buxom women then kick off their shoes and hold their delicately scented hosed feet before us. We shuffle forward on our own hosed knees and place deep loving utterly submissive kisses on the warm almost unbearably soft nylon fabric.
I feel my cock strain furiously in its sweet rubber prison and thank all the gods of this strange universe for my delightful sissy fate.
Then we are ordered back to our high-heeled feet.
‘Right,’ Ms Ambrose, so obviously aroused, says, slipping back into her shoes and climbing to her feet. ‘Let’s get you into Ruppi’s room. Once inside the door will be locked and you’ll be left to your own devices for the night. You’ll need to get those uniforms off and get into your night clothes, but you needn’t go to bed just yet.’
Ms Ambrose and Aunt Jane then usher us into a room running off the main living area. We are virtually pushed through the door and then it is quickly shut and locked behind us, without even a kiss goodnight!
Then we are alone and facing each other with shocked helplessly desiring eyes.
The room is surprisingly large, with a double bed in its centre. There is also a small pink leather sofa and a matching armchair. In one corner is a fitted closet, one door of which is a large square mirror. Near the closet is a white dressing table with a large oval-framed mirror. Set against an opposite wall is a wide bookshelf filled to bursting point with books on a surprisingly wide range of subjects. Beside it is a glass-fronted cabinet loaded with what appear to be magazines. On top of the cabinet is a small combined television/DVD player and at its side are a neatly stacked pile of DVDs.
‘Perhaps we should get changed first?’
The question is delivered in a slight, very nervous voice. I nod weakly and follow Rupert to the closet. He slides back the wooden-panelled door and I find myself looking at a true cornucopia of sissy delights. At first all I can see are the large variety of sissy boy costumes that Lillian favoured until her recent decision to transform Rupert into a full-blown SMC sissy. But then, further along, there are dresses, very elaborate and beautiful dresses that bear the design markings of the Sissy Maids Company.
‘These all arrived yesterday,’ he says, his voice riddled with desire. ‘They’re lovely. Really gorgeous. And all the undies too. I’m . . . overwhelmed. This whole thing has been . . .’
He turns to look at me. I see his terrible furious need. Then I step forward and take his head in my hands and place a gentle kiss on his beautiful girlish lips. I feel his scented body quiver with nervous joy and then we embrace; the kiss deepens and hardens. He gasps and moans. His hands fall upon my breasts. He begs for release and so do I.
‘Let’s undress first,’ he whispers, his voice cracked by nerves and need. ‘Mummy has bought these really exquisite nightdresses for us.’
I nod. ‘You start,’ I say. ‘Undress me.’
I turn to allow him access to the ribbons and zipper that hold my maid’s costume in place. His heavy desperate breathing echoes throughout the room as he removes the maid’s pinafore and the black dress. He gasps with pleasure as the dress falls away and the true nature of my sissy figure is revealed. Then I turn back to face him, a teasing smile lighting up my face.
Then I very slowly unclip the bra and let it fall away in one rather dramatic gesture, revealing my always impressive bosom with pride and a sense of real power.
His eyes widen in utter astonishment and he cries out a brief sharp ‘good grief!’
I step forward and take up his left hand. I very gently place it upon my large heavy right breast, and we stand like this for a few strange detached seconds. It is almost as if time has stopped, our eyes locked together, our bodies rigid with a bottomless sissy need. Then the illusion passes and, under my careful guidance, a stunned deeply agitated Rupert helps me ease off the court shoes, black tights and, the most erotic and complex moment, the rubber panties. And as soon as his eyes see my hard tightly restrained and long-denied cock, a perhaps surprising smile crosses his very pretty face.
‘I can help you,’ he whispers, ‘with that.’
I look at him with questioning eyes and his smile widens.
‘Mummy has ordered me to be restrained in the morning. But she says we can both be free tonight. That’s why she left this.’
He gestures towards the dressing table, towards a familiar glass jar. My eyes widen as I realise the jar contains the expansion gel used in the removal of the Senso rubber restrainers.
He totters over to the table and picks up the jar. I watch him remove the lid and extract a thick globule of the gel with his index figure. He replaces the jar and then returns to kneel before me.
‘Try and relax. I’ll be as gentle as possible.’
To my surprise, there is no hesitation in his voice, no fear. It is clear that he knows exactly what to do and why he is doing it. I remember our amazing dual bondage in the nursery and his violent desperate coming. My cock edges upward and then he begins to smear the gel over it. I cry out with angry deeply frustrated pleasure as my tightly rubberised cock is smothered in the clear sticky substance. I look down at Rupert in utter amazement: it is now becoming clear that he and his mother, and my lovely Aunt Jane, have planned this moment carefully.
Then the long pink-painted fingernails of his left hand are carefully slipping under the loosening Senso rubber wrapped around my balls and edging the material over the squeezed stretched skin. My cries increase in desperation and volume as the restraine
r is pulled up over my balls and then along the hot angry and very hard length of my sissy sex meat.
I emit an especially loud and angry cry that is more a scream when the restrainer is finally pulled free of my sex. I feel the relatively cool air of the room wash over my sex and a powerful sense of relief weakens my knees. The room begins to spin and I stagger backward. Then Rupert has quickly risen and taken me in his arms. I fall into his embrace and allow myself to be carried to the bed. He sits me down and then very gently lays me out on my back. I sink into soft cool scented silk sheets and sigh with a deep all-consuming sense of physical pleasure.
I look up and watch Rupert totter so very sweetly back across the room to the wardrobe. From inside he takes what appear to be two very fine pink silk dresses and brings them back over to the bed. He sets one dress out very carefully on the bed and then holds the other one before my dazed excited gaze.
‘They’re nightdresses, made from a very fine semitransparent silk. Mummy bought them for us. They’re imported from Italy.’
The dress is long, designed to cover the body from neck to toe. It has a high frilled neck with a large silk ribbon tied in a fat bow at the front.
He sets the dress down by its twin and minces back to the wardrobe, returning a few moments later armed with more sissy booty. I watch as he lays pairs of pink self-supporting stockings on top of the dresses and then pairs of ultra-frilly pink silk panties.
‘We can put these on after you’ve been relieved. Then we can talk. Mummy has ordered a sandwich supper for just after six. Myriam will serve us. Ms Bloom has promised we can play with her for a little while as well. Then maybe we can watch one of my DVDs. Mummy lets me have all the latest SMC releases. They drive me quite mad. Then, when we’re all warmed up again, we can get to know each other a little better.’
Silken Embrace Page 22