Silken Tales

by Christina Shelly

  As the sissies are led from the Nursery by their gorgeous, utterly determined mistresses, they fight to demonstrate the tinniest steps and the sweetest “wiggle mince”. Tears of humiliation and frustration trickle down their alabaster cheeks. They fight moans of fear and anger, utterly helpless but also filled with masculine resistance. Yet they know this resistance is less than it was only a few weeks ago. As their eyes fill with the spectacle of their mistresses shapely backsides, their erections strain with an even greater fury and the plugs tease their widening arses. Strange feelings are beginning to gradually emerge. Feelings of arousal and surrender, feelings routed in a terrible, unspeakable pleasure in this intricate and bizarre humiliation, and in their absolute submission to womankind.

  2. Special Therapy

  Mrs Anthea Swan arrived home just after 3pm carrying a number of shopping bags and a large, rectangular dress box. A very handsome woman in her mid-fifties, she placed the bags on the hallway carpet and balanced the long, thin, pink-coloured box on an ornate mahogany table that also contained the phone and a key tray.

  Directly opposite the table was a full length mirror. Mrs Swan slipped out of her white overcoat, hung it up and then inspected her striking form carefully. A tall, plump blonde, with long, thick hair today bound in a very tight, even stern bun, Anthea Swan had a very full figure that was deliberately accentuated by a tight, white satin blouse with a high neck around which was tied a large, wide bow. The blouse revealed the teasing, maternal form of her large, still firm bosom in a way she knew provoked desiring looks from even young men, a fact that both amused her and helped tremendously with the project she was currently pursuing. She also wore a knee length black and white check skirt that mapped out the ample geography of her wide hips and large, yet shapely bottom to provocative perfection. Her long, strong, yet elegantly curved legs were sealed in sheer black nylon tights and her feet rested in a pair of three inch, stiletto-heeled, black leather court shoes. Her large, sky blue eyes widened and a satisfied smile shaped her full, strawberry coloured lips. Yes: she was exactly as she needed to be to prepare her nephew for the visit of his mother and older sister.

  Satisfied with her appearance, Mrs Swan took up the bags and the book and climbed the stairs of the large, Georgian house. From behind, the view of her large bottom moving with a deeply erotic rhythm inside the tight folds of the skirt would have been a terrible torment for any male. The sound of her hosed legs brushing together and against the fabric of the skirt was an erotic sonata echoing around the quiet, beautiful house. Each step she took was elegant and careful, yet also determined. Her sister and niece would arrive by tea time: she had less than two hours to prepare her nephew for their visit.

  She moved down the long, rather shadowy upstairs corridor towards a white wooden door right at the very end. Originally, this had been one of two guest bedrooms. Now it was the Nursery. Placing the bags and the dress box on the floor, she took a large, silver key from a pocket in her skirt and inserted it into the door’s gold framed lock. As she turned the key, a muffled squeal – high pitched, girlish and desperate – came from inside the room. Smiling, filled with confidence and joy in the task ahead, she opened the door, picked up the various items of shopping and entered the room.

  The Nursery was a small, rectangular room bathed in a soft pink light. At the far end of the room were a set of wide, square windows that were now barred and covered by a pair of long dark red curtains. In front of the curtains was a rather beautiful antique dressing table with a large, silver framed oval mirror. Placed on the table top were jars and tubes of various coloured ointments and creams, perfumes, lipsticks, all manner of other make-up items and a striking strawberry blonde wig that rested on a white plastic wig stand. Just beyond the dressing table, to the left, was a tall, broad, white wood wardrobe. A matching chest of drawers stood beside it.

  A doorway next to the drawers led through to a small en suite bathroom. On the other side of the doorway was a tall, adult-sized baby’s high chair made of the same wood as the drawers and the wardrobe. The highchair was one of two, the other having been painted a bright pink and kept in the dining room. Mrs Swan often used it when she was entertaining visitors, as she would later that afternoon. And opposite the highchair was the cot, a beautiful confection of pink wood designed, like the high chair, for an adult-sized baby. And inside the cot was her babified nephew, Pansy Nappy Love.

  Since she had entered the Nursery, the muffled squealing evident in the corridor had risen in volume and intensity. Its source lay in the cot, imprisoned, helpless, humiliated and furious. A young man on his 18th birthday, who was being subject to a unique and outrageous form of therapy carefully designed by his lovely Aunt Anthea.

  Pansy was dressed, as he had been for the last 3 weeks, in the clothes of a baby girl. Early in the day, after a morning of hard domestic labour (mainly cleaning and ironing), he had been placed in the en suite shower, soaped and scented, dried and powdered, his naked body silky smooth thanks to the weekly application of a powerful hair removal cream (including, to Pansy’s utter horror, his head).

  After an intimate and helplessly arousing drying at the hands of his gorgeous, ample-figured Aunt, he had then been led naked back into the Nursery. His cock had been, as usual, rock hard. Yet even this most intense expression of his masculinity had been subdued by a tool of female control: it had been sealed, as it was now and since his arrival at Mrs Swan’s home, in a very tight, pink rubber sheath held in place with sturdy silver rings placed just beneath its bulging head, at its base and around Pansy’s bulging balls. For three weeks, this unique restraining device, perforated at the head to allow urination, had made any form of self-abuse or ejaculation impossible. For 3 weeks, Pansy’s naturally powerful teenage male desire had been denied and his own levels of sexual need and frustration had risen to a level where he was now permanently hard and always desperately aroused. At the heart of Mrs Swan’s plans for Pansy would be the utilisation and redirection of this furious desire towards sissy submission and the loving worship of Mrs Swan, his mother, his sister – the gorgeous Beverly - and his beautiful female cousin, Jocasta.

  After the bathing, Mrs Swan had dressed Pansy for his afternoon “nap”. Today his nap would be a little longer than usual, as the lovely Anthea Swan had needed to go into town for the various very special items required for her sissy nephew’s 18th birthday party.

  Tears of despair and frustration had trickled down the sissy’s face, which – like all of his body – was covered in a thick, snow white, water-proof foundation cream. He had stood before her, his hands behind his back, his mouth stopped by the fat rubber teat of an especially designed dummy gag, his lips – permanently dyed a bright sissy pink – covered by the circular plastic plate of the gag, which was held in place by two strands of narrow rubber cording held in place by a tight, fat bow at the back of his neck. He had tried to look at the floor, to strike the demure, modest pose his beautiful aunt demanded at all times. Yet even this had been a torment for the restrained, hugely frustrated male: for instantly his wide, tear-soaked eyes had been filled with the sado-erotic vision of Mrs Swan’s stiletto-heeled, black leather court shoes and her long, elegant legs sealed in sheer black nylon. With his pink rubber imprisoned cock rising up before him like a maddened sex snake, his eyes had slowly moved from the lovely spectacle of his aunt’s shoes and legs to her large, firm bosom gently rising and falling beneath the tight, gleaming material of the cream satin blouse.

  It had been then that she had taken his cream coloured, prettily dimpled chin in her hands and guided his pretty, baby blue eyes, highlighted by long, helplessly fluttering eyelashes and a delicate pink eye shadow, towards her own.

  ‘I need to pop out to get your birthday suit, Pansy. So your nap will be a longer today. But I’m sure you’ll have sweet sissy dreams about your baby birthday party with Mummy, Beverley and Jocasta.’

  Her words had been designed to humiliate and he had responded by widening his eyes with
fear and outrage, shaking his head furiously and squealing into the dummy gag. Her response had been to burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh, do stop pretending you can’t wait to show yourself off to Mummy!’

  Then, too his shock and horror, she had taken his hard, long, surprisingly thick cock in her hands and given it a good, strong squeeze, sending his squeals upwards by at least a girlish octave.

  ‘This is all the proof I need that you’re loving every second of your new sissy life!’

  He sobbed quietly as she had dressed him, defeated, confused, terrified at his impending exposure before his mother, sister and cousin. Yet he had submitted without question as large, despairing tears had trickled down his face. She had fitted him with afresh, adult-sized “Pampers”-style nappy that pressed his restrained cock hard against his stomach and also pushed the anal plug permanently fitted into his backside a little deeper into his widened, tormented arse; a fact he had acknowledged with a helpless squeak of arousal, and which she had compounded with teasing baby talk.

  ‘Does little baby like her pretty little bottom plug? I think she does!’

  This expert mockery, combined with a little tickle under his white, dimpled chin, ensured even faster flowing tears of deep unhappiness from her pathetic, intricately sissified nephew.

  The plug, a long, phallic-shaped tube of hard pink rubber smeared in K-Y jelly, was removed for about 20 minutes each day. This was in the morning, just before poor Pansy Nappylove received his daily enema, an ordeal he cried all the way through, yet which, combined with his diet of baby milk and liquidised vegetable mush, made any unpleasant nappy changings by his dominant, beautiful aunt totally unnecessary.

  After the nappy had come a pair of semi-transparent, pink plastic panties. With heavily frilled waist and leg sections and a design of red roses weaving over their gleaming surface, the panties were perfect agents of the intense and constant humiliation that was central to Mrs Swan’s training method. They were also very noisy, ensuring that each step the poor sissy teenager took was accompanied by hilarious baby squeaks!

  Mrs Swan had, as usual, made Pansy take the panties from her, perform a pretty bob curtsey of gratitude and then step rather gingerly into them. A smile of dark satisfaction had crossed Mrs Swan’s lovely face as her sissy nephew had wiggled the squeaking panties up his long, very shapely and silky smooth legs and then over the bulging nappy. She had then stepped forward and ensured that the panties were pulled very tightly into position, deliberately allowing her ample bosom to brush against his smooth, snow white chest and inspiring a deep, helpless moan of terribly frustrated male need.

  Once satisfied that the plastic panties were properly positioned, she had presented Pansy with a pair of the very special opaque, white nylon tights she had especially made for her sissy charge. Although exactly the same as any normal pair of tights in terms of the legs, the upper support section of the tights was much longer; indeed, when pulled fully into position, the tights reached to the top of the sissy’s chest and just beneath Pansy’s smooth, hairless armpits. This almost totally emersion in soft white nylon, the creation of a delicate second skin that constantly teased ultra-sensitive, silky smooth sissy skin was a further instrument of arousal and control. And even as Pansy, after taking the tights from his stunning aunt with a further dainty bob curtsey, began, with a striking feminine grace, to guide the tights carefully over his feet and up his legs, it was clear that – despite his humiliation and deeply repressed anger – Pansy was helplessly aroused by the sweet caress of this most fetishistic of fabrics.

  The tights also had an immediate and profound transformative effect. Instantly, the helpless, pathetic sissy prisoner became something else, something strikingly and inescapably feminine. As Mrs Swan helped her nephew pull the tights firmly up to the top of his chest, she had been struck – not for the first time – by the natural femininity of her nephew, and how quickly this teenage boy could be made to look like a rather pretty little girl. And she knew that he too was aware of just how feminine he appeared and how deeply disturbing and humiliating this knowledge was.

  Once the tights had been positioned, she had left him standing with his hands behind his back and his head bowed, a strange feminine mannequin awaiting the next stage of awful and inescapable transformation.

  She had then walked over to the wardrobe, knowing that Pansy’s eyes would now be pulled helplessly towards the teasing sight of her large, round bottom moving with such tantalisingly erotic grace against the tight covering of the check skirt. Opening the broad wooden doors of the wardrobe, she had revealed a long row of truly strange sissy delights: a carefully composed collection of little girl dresses, high necked smocks, satin blouses with long, outrageously puffed sleeves, micro mini-skirts, baby pyjamas and ultra-cute romper suits: Pansy’s soul-crushing sissy wardrobe in all its wondrous and deeply humiliating glory. And it had been one of the three romper suits that she had carefully extracted from the wardrobe and held up before him.

  ‘I think this one for your nap today, Pansy,’ she had said, her deep, sensual voice filled with mocking humour, her piercing crystal blue gaze meeting his own sex maddened, defeated and horrified look with overwhelming power and confidence.

  The romper suit was made from a gleaming, hot pink satin, with a high, lace-frilled neck and long, puffed sleeves. It had very short, white lace frilled leg sections which were thickened with a layer of soft padding. A very pretty pattern of pink and white roses made from an expensive silk ran across the chest section of the suit. The suit was secured via a row of pink plastic buttons that ran along its back.

  The poor sissy had looked at the romper suit with a familiar despair, yet he knew not to protest. In the last three weeks, Pansy had learnt that the slightest sign of resistance would automatically earn him a variety of stern, perverse and always painful punishments. He had also learnt, to his astonishment and horror, that Aunt Anthea was physically stronger than him. Indeed, thanks to a special drug that laced all his meals (a drug he knew nothing about), he was becoming a little weaker each day. And yet he weaker he had become, the stronger his libido seemed to be!

  Nappied, hosed and helpless, a truly strange, yet very feminine character with his snow white body, shaven head and dummy gagged mouth, Pansy had stepped forward, performed another bob curtsey and taken the soft, humiliating romper suit from his aunt’s beautiful, blood red-nailed hands, his eyes cast down towards her shapely, dark hosed legs and high heels, his tightly restrained cock burning desperately deep within its soft nappy prison.

  He had stepped into the with the same careful, feminine grace with which he had donned the plastic panties, pulling the elasticated, heavily frilled leg sections up his own white nylon sheathed legs and then up over his slender torso and shoulders. Mrs Swan, smiling broadly, her beautiful pale blue eyes filled with an obvious sexual arousal, had stepped behind her sissy nephew, each movement of her curvaceous, ample form graceful, sensual, teasing. Then buttoned up the suit so that it was pulled very tightly into place over Pansy’s upper body.

  ‘Snug as a pretty sissy bug in a rug,’ she had whispered, threading the last plastic button into place at the top of the romper suit’s high, befrilled neck.

  Then she had stepped in from of the humiliated, clearly appalled sissy to ponder her strange, yet strikingly pretty creation.

  The tight, pink romper suit had hugged Pansy’s girlish figure like a new skin of soft, tormenting satin. She had known that, thanks to poor Pansy’s silken, ultra-sensitive skin, that was exactly what it felt like; and that despite the dreadful humiliation of the sissy costume, he had been fighting significant sexual arousal. With his shaven head and dummy stopped mouth, and the very significant bulge of the nappy clearly visible through the tight material of the romper suit, Pansy had reasonable the big, silly little girl sissy that Mrs Swan was determined he was to become on a permanent basis.

  The suit had been quickly followed by further items of outrageous sissy wear: thickly padded,
fingerless mittens of matching pink satin and pretty baby boots, also thickly padded and made from exactly the same material. The mittens were designed to button into the long sleeves of the romper suit and, once fitted, they were impossible to remove by the wearer. As Mrs Swan had buttoned the mittens into place, poor Pansy’s snow white face had been only two or so inches from his striking, buxom aunt’s very considerable bosom, and the pathetic teenager had been unable to resist staring at them with a furious longing, soundly gagged moans of deeply frustrated desire only just fighting their way past the fat dummy gag. The booties were tied in place by Mrs Swan with lengths of pink silk ribbon that had been carefully intertwined through eye slots running around the frilled diameter of each item of baby footwear. As she had knelt down before him, she had allowed the tight, check skirt to ride up her black nylon sheathed legs to reveal the wide, muscular and yet intensely erotic shape of her thighs, a sight that induced an even louder squeal of frustrated sexual need from the helpless, pretty and utterly pathetic sissy.

  As she tied the loose ends of the two ribbons in fat bows, she looked up at her sissy charge and smiled warmly.

  ‘Baby likes Auntie’s lovely sheer tights, doesn’t she? Would baby like to wear a pair too?’