Silken Tales

by Christina Shelly

  'You may suckle me for a few minutes,' she says, slipping a hand under his head and gently guiding his mouth towards her long, very stiff left nipple.

  His sissy lips slip instinctively over the nipple. He moans into this beautiful, soft, pale rose breast and begins to suck. A terrible sexual smothering begins. Wrapped in silk and rubber, a babified teenage boy held firmly at his mother's breast, a future of intense feminisation and humiliation before him, he is overwhelmed by a very powerful sense of contentment, of inner peace. Suddenly all thoughts of his impending sentence disappear. And as he sucks harder, as his erection battles its rubber restrainer, his mother's back arches and he feels her gorgeous body tense violently. A moan of pleasure escapes her lips and a strange, elemental shudder vibrates through her stunning body. Then she gently detaches him from her left breast with a strange, girlish sigh and transfers his eager, painted lips to its equally beautiful and ample sister. Very soon he is sucking hungrily once again and she, once again, is responding.

  By the time she detaches him from her right breast and orders him to stand before her, she is flushed with orgasmic pleasure. She rises shakily from the bed and smiles at him in a sex stupor. He stares in continuing amazement at her splendid breasts, a look of utter devotion and deep desire igniting his sissified features.

  'Very good, Chrissy,' she whispers. 'Now let’s get you wrapped up for bedibies.'

  With this, she grabs the edges of her black, lace-frilled panties and then pulls them down over her long, nylon sheathed legs. Chrissy cries out in a final, crushed amazement as she reveals her soaking, dark sex to his wide, baby girl eyes.

  She moves closer to him, waving her wet panties like a flag of war.

  'Open your mouth…wide.'

  He obeys instantly, his eyes never leaving the panties as she folds them into an inside-out ball that leaves the soaked gusset section fully exposed, and then forces them deep into his mouth. The sharp, even acrid, but deeply arousing taste of her sex suddenly fills his mouth. He gasps helplessly into this sudden, teasingly wicked gag. She then turns to the bedside table and takes from it a very thick role of wide silver duct tape and a large pair of scissors. His eyes widen still further as she pulls a long strip of the wide, thick tape free and then snips it off with the scissors.

  'Close your mouth over the panties – lips together.'

  He obeys and she spreads the tape over his lips and cheeks, sealing the panties firmly inside his mouth, and thus very efficiently and erotically gagging him.

  'Do you like it?' she asks, desire coating her husky voice, her eyes filled with cruel excitement. 'Do you like being gagged with my panties?'

  He nods helplessly and she laughs. 'Good, because I want you to wear a panty gag every night, to help you sleep and to remind you of the rewards of obedience.'

  She very slowly presses the tape against his sealed lips and cheeks with her long, beautiful fingers, her eyes two roaring, sex fuelled pyres of desire. He moans loudly and angrily, his sex begging for release.

  'Yes, I know,' she whispers. 'You want me. I've always known, you silly sissy. But some things are just not possible. If you behave, we can spend time together, like tonight. And if you're really good, maybe you can use that tongue a little lower down. But that's it, sweetness. However, if I think you deserve it, once a week I'll slip that little restrainer off and milk you. And then there's Prissy – you'll always have Prissy. And I'm sure he'll want to get to know you much better.'

  The mention of some bizarre sexual encounter with Prissy fills him with dread and he shakes his head vigorously.

  'Don't be silly, Chrissy. We all saw you writhing around together. By the time we've finished with you, you will be helpless sissy lovers. You'll be unable to keep your hands off each other, unless we tie you up – which we will…frequently. Talking of which, it's time for you to be secured and put to bed.'

  He watches in dumb amazement as she then sits down on the bed and carefully slips out of her very sheer, sexy nylon stockings. Then, completely naked, she stands, the stockings wrapped around her wrists, and tells him to put his hands behind his back. Moaning into the pungent, teasing gag, he obeys, and she very quickly binds his wrists and elbows together with the stockings, pulling extra tight on the stocking binding his elbows and thus ensuring that the tips touch and that his chest is forced to jut forward. He squeals with pain and she laughs cruelly. Then she takes the hobble shackles and chain from the bed and refits them to his silk wrapped ankles.

  'There,' she whispers, standing triumphantly before him, her splendid, nude form a terrible, beautiful torture for his pretty sissy eyes.

  Then, from deep within his gut comes a much louder and deeply ominous rumble. His buttocks clench together desperately and his painted face reddens.

  'Not much time left by the sounds of it, Chrissy. We better get you downstairs.'

  She quickly grabs a beautiful black silk dressing gown from the wardrobe, wraps it around her stunning form and leads him from the room. He totters desperately along besides her, panting into his fat, tormenting gag, suddenly very painfully aware that his bowels are demanding evacuation as quickly as possible.

  Once out on the landing, he discovers Prissy flanked by Heather and Beverley. From the haunted, hungry and also uncomfortable look in his big eyes, it is clear he too has been subject to some strange form of sexual torture and is also rather desperately in need of the toilet. Like Chrissy, Prissy has also been fitted into a very pretty silk romper suit, yet his is coloured a babyish powder blue. His lips are also tightly sealed with silver masking tape, and, judging by his bulging cheeks, he too has been expertly panty gagged. He is also trussed tightly with stockings. And it is only as Chrissy passes his old room and sees Mrs Eve adjusting her skirt and blouse (while Debra looks on admiringly) that he realises who the panties filling Prissy's mouth belong to!

  The two babified she-males are then placed in the custody of Heather and Beverley and led moaning and mincing along the landing. As he begins to hobble desperately down the stairs, poor Chrissy turns to see his mother disappear into his old room. The hoarse, sexual laughter that follows fills him with deep humiliation and helpless desire.

  Inspired by numerous hard slaps from Heather and Beverley, the sissies are led down the stairs, along the ground floor corridor and, eventually, down the steep, shadowy stairway into the nursery. Here, their bowels now bubbling loudly, Heather and Beverley quickly untie their arms and release the hobbles.

  'You both look so cute,' Heather teases, her beautiful eyes filled with wicked amusement and sadistic pleasure.

  She takes the stockings used to bind Chrissy to the dressing table and drowns each one in a powerful rose perfume. 'I really can't wait to start training you; tomorrow is going to be such fun! You'll hate it of course. But resistance is utterly futile. There really is no escape. You've been sentenced to life in panties and hose. So get used to it. And, believe it or not, I think you will…both of you. And one day, not too far away, you'll beg me to put you into the prettiest, sissiest clothes imaginable. And, if Ms Blaine has her way, you'll have the bodies to go with the clothes!'

  The girls laugh cruelly and the two increasingly uncomfortable sissies squeal desperately into their gags, wiggle their nappied behinds and bounce angrily on their silk wrapped heels.

  'Yes, it must feel a bit dodgy down there about now. So let's get you masked and into the sleep sack.'

  The sissies can only watch in helpless horror as Beverley takes from the wardrobe what appears to be a large pink rubber sack. She brings it over to the dainty, struggling captives with a sinister smile.

  'As you both loved being tied together earlier, we thought you'd like to be wrapped up nice and tightly while you sleep.'

  Beverley's cruel words fill the wriggling sissies with a new horror and they squeal their renewed anger. Laughing, Heather joins Beverley and holds the stockings before the two sobbing she-males.

  'Of course, as you're about to poo your nappies and wet you
rselves, things will probably get very uncomfortable, especially with the smell. So, we thought mummy's stockings, appropriately scented, might help reduce the pong.'

  The sissies watch with true terror as Heather then proceeds to stretch the top of one of the stockings into a wide bowl and approach Prissy. Prissy minces backward, shaking his head and squealing furiously into his gag. Beverley grabs and holds him firmly in position while Heather stretches the scented stocking over his head, then pulls it down over his face and around his neck. His flattened, distorted features inspire peels of wicked laughter from the two girls and as he continues to shake his head and squeal frantically in Beverley's tight grip, Heather turns to her helpless, sobbing she-brother.

  'Now it's your turn, Chrissy.'

  Perhaps surprisingly, Chrissy doesn't resist this latest awful humiliation. However, his increasingly unstable bowels make any sudden movement distinctly risky, and he hardly stirs as Heather slips the stocking over his head and pulls it down around his face, plunging him into a world seen through a dark filter of sweetly scented nylon.

  'There's a good girl,' Heather whispers, her blurred, shadowy figure standing over him like a harbinger of absolute doom.

  The two sissies are then led to the pink rubber sack and made to stand facing each other in the exact centre of this strange device. Prissy's resistance is quickly subdued by a sharp application of the crop from Beverley. Heather pushes the two unfortunates very closely together, so that their stockinged faces are only inches apart.

  Pressed together, the poor sissies are immediately reminded of the terrible and deeply ambivalent experience in the playpen. Their silk wrapped bodies so close, their nylon sheathed faces beholding brutal distortions of each other, they cannot help but squirm with fear and a stranger, deeper, much more disturbing sensation.

  Beverley then takes up the bottom rim of the weird sack and begins slowly to draw it over their imprisoned forms.

  'You'll be snug as two bugs in a somewhat smelly rug,' Heather teases.

  It quickly becomes apparent that the rubber sack is very tight, and as it is eased up their bodies, the two moaning, frightened sissies are pushed even closer. And by the time the sack has been pulled up to their necks, they are sealed very tightly together, their stocking sheathed noses actually touching.

  Now unable to move an inch, they can only rely on their combined sense of feeling to realise that Heather is wrapping a leather belt around their combined waists. She then proceeds to buckle it very tightly in place, significantly increasing the pressure on their squashed forms. They squeal angrily into their fat, tight, utterly inescapable, very pungent and teasingly soft panty gags. She then adds two more belts, one at the ankle area and one at the upper chest area, insuring that the sissies are crushed into a single, immobile, rubberised, silk encased block of she-male flesh.

  Then, as the sissies moan with discomfort and fear, Beverley and Heather carefully tip their sissies captives onto the cot's rubber mattress and roll them into the centre, leaving them on their sides, face to face.

  Laughing cruelly, the girls lift up the barred sides of the cot and lock them in place.

  'It's just after 6.00pm,' Heather says. 'We'll be back at 7.00am to wake you. The laxatives should take their inevitable effect in a very few minutes. Also, there is a filter on the head of the re-strainer to allow you to piss yourselves - so things will be rather uncomfortable for the next thirteen hours. But do try to get some beauty sleep, my pretties.'

  As poor Chrissy and Prissy lie stone still, unable to move even a millimetre, their stockinged faces pressed tightly together, the taste of their mistresses filling their exceptionally well gagged mouths, Heather and Beverley, still laughing wickedly, leave the nursery. At the top of the stairs, Heather, a broad smile lighting up her lovely face, switches off the light and plunges the sissies into an absolute darkness.

  The girls then slip through the door to the main corridor.

  The sound of the door being locked echoes through the nursery and rings in the nylon sheathed ears of the two totally immobilised sissies. Then there is just the laboured breathing of the tightly bound, gagged and rubber cocooned she-male captives and, more ominously, the increasingly disturbed sounds of their weakening bowels.

  Even as he voids his bowels and squeals of horror flood from Prissy's gag, Chrissy is violently, if uncomfortably erect, his mind filled with tormenting images of his beautiful, all powerful mother. He tastes her and moans with a fierce pleasure, almost unaware that his nappy has been filled with the almost liquid excreta produced by the powerful laxative. Then he feels Prissy helplessly relax and realises that he too has involuntarily emptied his bowels into his own tight, soul destroying nappy. And within seconds of this, poor Chrissy has also added a fast, powerful stream of urine to the mixture.

  Now they are truly defeated. Bound and gagged, unable to move or talk, unable even to control their bodily functions. Yet both are still deeply aroused, despite everything; both are filled with teasing, sexy images of their mistresses; and both are terrified and excited by the thought of what lies ahead in their distinctly sissy futures.

  4. Prunela’s Experiment

  He wakes with a fierce, panicked start and is immediately aware of a heavy head and blurred vision. He is on his back, on a soft surface. He opens his eyes and winces as strong, white light burns into the retinas. He tries to shield his eyes and realises something is very wrong. He holds his hands before his face in disbelief: they are sealed in a pair of thick pink satin mittens! Shocked out of his waking haze, he pulls himself up onto his elbows and discovers he is naked. He gasps, but then realises his mouth has been stopped, that a fat gag of some kind has been forced between his lips. He tries to pull it from his mouth, but the mittens are fingerless and very thick: his hands have been made utterly useless.

  Then there is real panic. His heart begins to pound against his chest, cool fear sweat seeps through the skin of his face. He is aware of a very powerful smell of roses, like a woman’s perfume, yet all pervasive. Then he realises the smell is coming from his body. And as he looks down at his at his carefully trained, always masculine form, he realises something else: he has been shaved, every single hair on his body has been removed! And not only that: his skin, now silky smooth, has been painted or stained a bright snow white!

  Then he notices his sex, his modestly-sized penis that has always been a source of deep and tormenting inadequacy. It is hard, perhaps as hard as it has been for many months. He has awoken with a truly furious erection and, to his horror given his bizarre state, he can feel the juices of sexual arousal course through his body. Yet there is worse – much worse. For his angrily erect penis has been secured in a strange pink rubber sheath, a skin tight prison held in place with equally tight silver bands just beneath its circumcised head, at its base and also (with a much large band) around his bulging testicles.

  He pulls his long, muscled legs off what appears to be a narrow single bed and finds himself looking down with shock and fear at toenails painted bright pink. Appalled and terrified, he stands, looking desperately around the room for some form of escape. But almost immediately, he is overwhelmed by a terrible, sickening dizziness and falls back onto the bed, his head held in his mittened hands, tears of confusion and anger beginning to well up in his striking pale blue eyes.

  After a while, the dizziness subsides. He sits up, his heart still pounding, and tries to take his surroundings in more detail. As he does so, a sense of utter horror and despair begins to wash over him. For the room is a huge nursery. Its high walls are painted a bright pink and covered in pictures of elaborately costumed Victorian dolls. A thick, soft white carpet covers the room. At one end of the nursery is a white door. At its opposite end is what appears to be a large bay window covered by drawn white curtains. And between the window and the door are the trappings of an absolute babification.

  In the centre of the room is a large, circular playpen with barred sides that must be five feet high. The pen
is covered in what appears to be a thick pink rubber mat and is filled with dolls and silk cushions. Close to the pen is an equally large highchair. Both the pen and the chair are clearly designed for an adult!

  Running along most of one of the long rectangular walls is a huge, pink wood wardrobe. Between its two wide doors is a full size mirror in which he can see part of his reflection. It is then that he realises two things: first the bed he is sitting on is an adult-sized cot, and second his head is shaven. A well muffled cry of horror and despair fights its way past the gag as he is confronted with the strangeness of his transformation. A sense of deep, darker panic grips him, and once more he struggles to feet. His heart pounding, a terrible fear gripping his tortured mind, he tries to fight his way through the returning dizziness and walk towards the door. As he totters forward, he is aware of a strange pressure in his backside. Tears fill his eyes and blur his vision as he realises he is too weak to take more than a few short, pathetic steps. Then he is falling and squealing like a little girl into the gag. Then, he is flat on his face on the thick, soft carpeting, hot tears staining his checks.

  As he struggles to find the energy to pull himself upright, the door opens and a figure enters the nursery.

  At first, all he can see is a pair of black patent leather court shoes with fierce three or four stiletto inch heels and a pair of long, very shapely legs sheathed in sheer black nylon. He feels an immediate and incredibly powerful sexual arousal. But then there is a voice, a shockingly familiar voice.

  ‘Naughty little baby!’

  The voice of his mother-in-law, Prunela Wise, fills the room. Within seconds the strikingly heeled shoes are a few inches from his face and he is struggling to look up at her always impressive figure.

  Then the shoes are edged beneath his slender, weakened form and he is tipped onto his back like a lifeless rag doll. He squeals with outrage into the gag and finds his vision suddenly filled with the form of his beautiful mother-in-law towering over him like some giant, all powerful goddess.