He had worshipped this haughty, silver-haired lady ever since she had spirited him away from Madam Blanchette’s to a new life at Cleveland House in elegant Belgravia. It had been his secret pleasure to surreptitiously “borrow” her lingerie when it was sent down to the laundry in the basement, or take it directly from her closet when she was out. At the end of the day he would retire to his top-floor room, undress and luxuriate in the joy of donning her silks and satins before stroking himself to orgasm.
Just stepping into her knickers and slithery camisole slip, drawing the silk stockings up over his shapely legs and savouring the erotic feel of silk running up the tender inside of his thighs would bring his cock to throbbing erection. He would stand before his peer-glass; a Hermaphroditus regarding his reflection in the pool of Salmacis as he ran his satin-gloved hands over his corseted body, fondling the sensitive glans of his prick through the slinky quicksilver perfection of Lady Jessica’s satin knickers. He liked to tie his erect penis and plump balls in her silk stocking, enjoying the pressure of the blood pumping through the veins of his distended shaft as he stroked and fondled himself to explosive release, fantasizing that it was the statuesque Mistress of the House who stood there pleasuring herself en deshabillé.
How he had yearned to possess such a curvaceously feminine body. Filled with breast envy, he would squeeze his own tiny tits and pretend they were her full breasts and firm nipples that he had freed from the prison of her figure-hugging corset to admire, hold, and suck.
Sometimes he slid her knickers down to his knees and stood before the peer-glass, his stockinged legs wide apart to hold the knickers taut. Then he would whip his own buttocks in a frenzy of self-flagellation with his leather belt, enjoying the reflection of his white cheeks blushing pink to red to purple in painful progression before cockstroking himself to ecstasy.
Lady Cleveland broke into his reverie. ‘Hurry up! I do not intend to stand here all day while you daydream.’
Clarence pulled himself together and took the bundle of clothes over to the chaise longue against the wall and sat down. His submissive fantasies had suddenly taken on a true dimension over which he had absolutely no control. He didn’t know where she was leading him, but it wasn’t on a one-way trip to Newgate.
Clarence thankfully undid the constraining stocking around his balls and prick, aching now from their prolonged constriction. Picking out the white satin knickers trimmed with lace, he stepped delicately into them. They barely covered his posterior, showing an excess of youthful white cheeks while his balls and cock thrust out in bulging relief through the shiny material.
Picking up the sateen corset, he put it back to front around his stomach, did up its ten hooks and pulled it round so that they were at the back. Its tight whale-boned constriction brought a tingle of excitement to his abdomen and his cock rose in response.
There was a glint of approval in Lady Jessica’s eyes at the practised dexterity with which Clarence fitted the body shaping garment to his frame. Madame Blanchette had had a willing cross-dresser to entertain admirers.
Clarence drew the flimsy, gossamer-thin lace-topped hose slowly up over his long legs and snapped the corset’s suspender tabs to the stocking tops, pulling them sleekly taut against his thighs. He could not resist running his hands down his sides to feel the hourglass femininity of the corsetry now moulding his figure, and enjoy the luxurious thrill of sensuality that always overcame him at such a moment of bodily restriction. He slipped his feet into the high-heeled bootees. Next, Clarence picked up the white satin French slip. He slid into it, drawing it sensuously up over his body, engaging in the erotic quicksilver feel of the material slithering over his stockinged legs and thighs to cover his nipples. Finally, he eased his hands into the elbow-length pink satin gloves to complete the erotic picture of himself in the glass.
Lady Cleveland turned to a hatbox on her vanity table and drew out a thickly curled blonde wig. Clarence’s eyes lit up as she handed it to him; the crowning glory to this unexpected and unexplained enforced feminine make-over at her hands.
Clarence regarded himself in the long vanity glass. But for the lack of rounded bosom to fill the slip, the feminine transformation was complete. A sensually beautiful blonde young woman in slinky satin lingerie gazed dreamily back at him. The sight, and the unaccustomed situation, was disturbingly exciting and his cock throbbed in constricted excitement within its tight satin confines. He knew that Lady Cleveland could see the thrusting bulge of his cock beneath the satin slip and feared he might spontaneously come at the sheer stunning pleasure of wearing such fragrantly perfumed lingerie in the presence of this statuesque corseted lady.
Lady Jessica moved to his side with the catlike fluidity of a stalking predator to break into his reverie of erotic fantasy. Her voice was a velvet feline purr.
‘Do you enjoy sheathing your pretty body in my silks and satins? Do you love my knickers’ satin caress against your throbbing prick? Is this how you jerk off in your room? Do you watch yourself stroking your hot pussycock with that satin-gloved hand? Shall I watch you stain my tight knickers with your spurting cream? Will you come in front of me now?’
Clarence’s hand went to his cock to stroke its throbbing heat through its satin confines. A wet patch of precome spread its telltale message of imminent orgasm.
Lady Jessica’s voice cut like a whiplash into the sexual fantasy she had conjured up.
‘I shall punish you for your outrageous presumption and theft of my intimate belongings and you will accept my punishment without reservation.’
A shocked Clarence came crashing down to earth and reality. Tears welled up in his eyes as he knelt in supplication before his mistress.
‘I beg you not to send me to Newgate, my lady. I will do anything to serve as your adoring boudoir maid. I shall worship you as your abject slave if you will keep me. Have pity on me.’
It was unconditional surrender; a moment that Lady Jessica had been preparing for ever since she had collected Clarence from Madam Blanchette’s. Her firm measured voice now held a note of triumph.
‘You will henceforward answer to the name of Clarissa and none other. You will address me when I speak to you as “Mistress”. Lord Cleveland will no longer use you as his personal valet. He will forget you existed after today. He prefers to dip his quill into a bit of rough at Blanchette’s, not the feminized sissy I intend to make of you!
‘I shall confine you to my suite while I groom you for your transformation and new role as my personal boudoir slutmaid. While I whip you into shape, I shall teach you all my preferences and whims in dress, toilette, and punishment rituals of disciplined sensuality. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘You will learn to bare and present your bottom in my preferred punishment posture. I shall discipline you daily, taking a whippy cane to your bottom and a leather strap to your pussycock as part of your behaviour modification. I shall depilate every hair of your body except your eyelashes, submit you to a regular body massage and diet that will soften your body curves, encourage your breasts and bottom to blossom into the rounded femininity that you desire and I require for my pleasure.’
Taking a leather collar and leash from a drawer, she slipped it around his neck and fastened it.
‘You now wear my training collar and I shall leash you while I teach you feminine deportment and slutmaid servility. I shall enclose your pussycock in a leather chastity harness which you will wear at all times unless I remove it for my personal pleasure. You will come when and where I wish and on no other occasion, on pain of my cane.
‘When I am sufficiently satisfied with your progress, I shall fit you with a custom-made collar of hammered gold which can never be removed. You must accept me as your dominatrix and my terms of lifelong service now, or be delivered to the police for theft. Which is it to be?’
Clarence bent forward and kissed the toe of her proffered booted foot with reverence.
‘I accept my fate at
your gracious hands in humble gratitude, mistress.’
Jessica smiled with satisfaction.
‘Now you wear my collar, there can be no turning back. Your previous existence must be forgotten history. No more butt-fucks from noble cocks! Clarence is dead. You are now Clarissa. You belong to me. You are my personal property, my toygirl, my private divertissement for boudoir, bed, and bath. Your slutmaidenly sweet cheeks, fuckbutton, and pussycock belong exclusively to me. You are my personal plaything, my pleasure toy!’
Clarence listened to Mistress’s words with fear that turned to mounting joy as the future of his transformation and submission became. Fantasy had become fact. He gulped, choking back tears of pent-up emotion. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and mentally stepped through the looking-glass; Alice entering a promised Wonderland.
‘I am Clarissa. You are my mistress, my goddess. I place myself in your hands in loving submission. I pledge you my unquestioning obedience in everything. I shall serve you as your slutmaid with my body and my soul in total adoration.’
‘I am now your life commitment, Clarissa. Your domina. Your sun and your moon. I am the alpha and omega of your existence. In return for your total submission to me, I promise to care for you and your every need for the rest of my life.’
Jessica stood, legs apart, an awesome, demanding dominatrix. She put a hand to her smoothly shaved cunt and parted the pink lips.
‘Worship now, at the altar of your goddess!’
There was a moment of silence. With a moan of pleasure, Clarissa buried put her face in Jessica’s hot cunt. Nuzzling deep in ecstatic adoration, she sucked at the precious jewel she found there, coaxing it from its protective hood into prominent arousal. Then, darting her tongue into the musky recesses of the bower, she sipped at her domina’s sacred cup of life.
The ormolu clock on the wall whirred and pinged out the hour as Clarissa made the ultimate submission. It was 4 o’clock.
At that moment, Lady Cleveland and valet Clarence died. Domina Jessica and slutmaid Clarissa were born.
The Collaring of Camilla
My Diary. Cissbury Hall. 12 May, 1888.
’Don’t stop now! Don’t stop! Yes! Yes! Suck it … my precious pearl!’
Mistress Augusta crushed me, smothering my head between her thighs as her orgasm mounted and broke like a wave crashing upon a shingle strand.
I sucked feverishly at her throbbing clitoris, gripping her bucking bottom as Mistress abandoned herself to her pleasure. She peaked, peaked, and peaked again in an orgy of multiple orgasms, the delirium of her rapture convulsing her in quivering ecstasy, as spasms of delight surged through her body.
Her frenzy passed, receding like the spent wave that leaves a glistening wetness upon an empty beach of broken shells.
Mistress’s voice turned to a languid whisper. ‘Gently, now. Just lap me. Let me down gently. Caress it gently with your tongue. Kiss me. Let me taste my love juices upon your lips. Cover me with your sweet body. Caress me softly … softly. Feel the faint reverberations, the dying echoes …’
I lay in blissful silence upon her sleeping body. My deflowered and sated pussy, that she had earlier ravished before the assembled sisters at my collaring in the Temple, was now pressed snugly to her cunt. I had worshipped at last at the portal of Venus.
It was my nirvana. I was now absorbed into my mistress’s supreme spirit in ultimate submission to her as her chosen handmaiden.’
Delia paused in her reading and smiled at the precious memories evoked by her diary entry. Across the courtyard from her sumptuously furnished boudoir, the clock above Cissbury Hall’s neo-classical portal whirred and struck midnight beneath a summer moon. Delia bent and kissed the head of the girl sitting demurely at her feet.
‘Queen Victoria celebrated her Golden Jubilee the year I made that entry. I was brought to Cissbury Hall six months earlier; an ignorant and angry orphan, spitting hatred for the Southwark workhouse from which Augusta had rescued me. In that short time she transformed me from a wild harpy into her loving and trusting handmaiden just as I have transformed you, my dearest Camilla, since rescuing you from that same workhouse and giving you a new name and life at my side.’
She caressed Camilla’s auburn curls.
‘I vividly remember the journey from London. It was a momentous event for me.
‘”Whip up! We have a train to catch for Brighton,” Augusta instructed the hansom cabbie waiting outside the workhouse as she bundled me inside. I had never set foot in cab or train before! At Victoria Station, Augusta found an empty first class ladies’ only compartment. I was nervously excited as the train steamed out of London. I was instantly attracted to this elegantly attired, handsome lady with long silver hair flowing unfashionably loose to the shoulder. No one, male or female, had ever affected me like that before and I was sensually aroused.’
Returning to her diary, Delia found her description of that journey:
‘I am Augusta, chatelaine of Cissbury Hall, abbess of the secret Sapphic order of Cissbury Sybarites,’ she told me, as the train rolled through open countryside.
‘You will feel at home with us. Some of our sisters were once wild and angry girls like you. Your workhouse manager described you as a “vicious and untamable bitch”, from which I deduce you fought off his filthy advances. He expressed his pleasure at seeing the back of you. The pleasure was doubtless mutual.’
Laying a possessive hand on my thigh, Augusta looked deep into my eyes. ‘So you see, my untamed beauty, I know all about you! And I am adept at gentling the wildest of animals. You are safe now. There is no drunken workhouse manager at Cissbury Hall, seeking to defile your femininity. You will no longer be a victim of abuse, but a receiver of love, surrounded by sisters and cared for by me, your mistress.’
She caressed my unkempt locks. ‘I shall name you Delia, after Goddess Diana of Delos. We have an altar to her in our Temple. Accept your good fortune, bow to my will and surrender your body to me to me as my chosen handmaiden and I shall transform you into a poised, sophisticated, and beautiful lady. I shall be your inspiration in all things. When I have tamed you, I shall collar you as my own and you shall share my bed and life. One day, when I am dead and buried, you yourself may become abbess at Cissbury Hall. But first you must learn to please me and become the vessel of my will. It will be your deepest and most fulfilling goal to surrender your life and body to me. Do so, and I shall amply reward you with my love.’
My stomach churned at this statuesque lady’s thrilling offer. I clutched her hand to my lips.
‘Thank you for rescuing me from that hateful workhouse, madame. I trust you and willingly accept your offer. Take me and whip me into shape as your chosen handmaiden. I shall love you devotedly, submitting humbly and joyfully to your every whim.’
‘I am a kind but strict mistress,’ Augusta replied. ‘Once I have caressed the anger and hurt from your mind and body, you will become willingly receptive to my lovecane’s stinging caresses. There is truth in the epigram “spare the rod and spoil the pleasure”!’
She squeezed my breast gently and my nipple hardened to her soft touch. A quiver of sexual arousal coursed through me.
She inclined her head and I felt the flicker of a serpentine tongue at my lips. I parted them in awakening desire. Her tongue became more insistent. An exploring hand slid up my inner thigh to caress the warmth of hidden delights. I opened my legs to her probing finger. It explored the wetness of my unaccustomed arousal, finding and tempting my clitoris from its hooded slumber. I moaned softly at her gentle, sensual touch; so delicate, so beautiful, so loving, so tender. The rough, calloused hands of the gin-sodden workhouse manager, who had so often abused and attempted to rape me, were a forgotten nightmare.
The train’s piercing whistle interrupted our intimacies.
‘We have arrived at our destination. We shall continue this interesting “conversation” elsewhere, when I can bring it to a more satisfying conclusion.’ Lady Augusta smiled as she re
covered her regal composure. ‘Open the carriage door, Delia, and hand me down. Sister Peneia awaits us with the brougham.’
Delia put down her diary.
‘Thus began my new life with my late mistress. It was an entrancing voyage of self-discovery and enlightenment as I gave my all in total submission to her. Having tamed and collared me, Mistress led me through intense physical and emotional climaxes of exquisite pain and delight. She took me beyond this mundane world of sight, sound, and feeling and into that nether realm of pure sensation and bonding where no culture, no society, no words stand between a caring mistress and her chosen handmaiden.’
She gave Camilla her hand to kiss.
‘Yours will be a similar lifetime of discovery as my chosen handmaiden. And now it’s past midnight, my dear. Retire to your bed. You must prepare for our full moon ritual tomorrow when you take your vows of submission to me in the Temple and I replace your leather training collar with one of beaten gold. Tomorrow, I shall take you at last to my love bed as my Sapphic collarbride.’
Camilla pressed her mistress’s hand to her lips and silently left her boudoir.
The Neo-Classical Rotunda designed by James Wyatt in 1790 for Lord Cissbury as an adjunct to Cissbury Hall is a miniature copy of his famous London Pantheon, now sadly demolished. The rotunda, placed in a picturesque Capability Brown landscape overlooking the lake fronting the Hall, was designed to provide a suitable venue for Regency revelry and debauchery.
When, as a rich young widow, Lady Augusta had inherited the Hall and surrounding parkland half a century later, she determined to turn it into a rural retreat for her secret Sapphic society of ladies devoted to promoting an “independent lifestyle” for women, and she settled the property in perpetuity on them. Restricting their numbers to 12 mistresses and their chosen handmaidens, they call themselves the Cissbury Sybarites to this day.
The Rotunda, with its gleaming pink and white marbled interior, was perfect for their secret Sybaritic ceremonies and sensual Sapphic rituals. Augusta lost no time in filling it with suitably erotic Classical and Renaissance statues of Venus, Astarte, Diana, Aphrodite, Hecate, and Nemesis brought from Greece, Rome, and Florence. At their Temple dedication, the Cissbury Sybarites proclaimed their founding benefactress abbess and Temple high priestess; duties assumed by Delia upon Augusta’s death.
The Collaring of Camilla Page 3