Silken Tales

by Christina Shelly

  ‘I knew I should have tied you to the cot,’ she whispers, her dark brown eyes filled with cruel amusement, the slightest of smiles crossing her full, blood red lips.

  Despite his outrage, he cannot help but admire Prunela in all her Amazonian glory; for she is truly dressed to dominate. Standing just beneath five feet eleven in her stocking feet, she is well over six feet tall in the heels. This height allows her to carry an undoubtedly ample figure with a deeply sensual grace. At 48, she is plump, yet still utterly gorgeous, a fact always she has exploited with a quite cunning care. And today, this strangest of days, is no different. She is wearing a tight black skirt that appears painted over lower body and reaches down to just beneath her delicately hosed knees. This expertly accentuates her long, exquisitely shaped legs, her strong thighs and large yet gloriously curvaceous backside. Yes, how many times he has found himself staring longingly at that generous bottom and its proud, confident movement beneath a variety of tight, teasing fabrics?

  A sickness of mad animal desire washes over him as his fear and tear-stained eyes move up towards Prunela’s large, yet still strikingly firm bosom. She is wearing a very tight cream coloured satin blouse that very effectively demonstrates the considerable size and beautiful curving symmetry of her breasts. The blouse has a high neck around which is secured a fat bow of the same cream silk material. The blouse has broad, slightly squared shoulders and delicately puffed upper arms leading down to very slender, long sleeves. It is tucked firmly and very precisely into the skirt and quite deliberately reveals the Rubenesque curve of her belly. Yes, she is a great work of nature’s most sensual art, a woman that he has always secretly desired, despite an often difficult relationship. But her presence here is even more troubling than his strange predicament: if she is behind all this, then so is Myriam!

  Thoughts of his wife are temporarily cast aside as Prunela suddenly lowers herself down beside him, quite blatantly allowing the skirt to ride up over her knees and reveal her broad, black nylon sheathed thighs. The sound of cotton gliding over nyloned-skin suddenly fills the room, a sensual serenade possessed by an erotic clarity beyond anything he has ever experienced. He is trapped in the world of sex, an aggressively intensified sexualisation of everything that is both incredibly arousing and utterly terrifying.

  ‘You have been given a rather powerful muscle relaxant. This will make it very difficult to carry out any of your basic motor functions. You are as helpless as baby. Which, I assure you, is absolutely appropriate. You will be given regular doses of the drug to allow me to manage you without restraints. However, there will be times when you are required to undertake a broad range of domestic chores. Then I will use other means to keep you under control.’

  He moans with anger and confusion into the gag, but cannot keep his eyes off of her thighs and breasts. He struggles to look up into her pale rose face with its slight double chin and incredibly powerful dark brown eyes. Her jet black hair is thick and rich, and today bound into a very tight, matronly bun that only adds to the startling image of absolute female power.

  ‘The only muscle that is currently working is your naughty little willy. This is because you have been injected with an equally powerful chemical that very significantly increases male sexual arousal for extended periods of time. The restraining device is needed to prevent orgasm. It allows a very high degree of tissue expansion, but not enough to achieve ejaculation. I’m afraid you’ll be as hard stone for at least 24 hours. Indeed, I plan to administer the drug to you on a daily basis, so I suggest you get used to the idea of being helplessly hard and intensely frustrated.’

  The matter of fact way in fact in which she describes his fate only adds to the torrent of fear and anger flooding his mind. He shakes his head weakly, moans loudly into the gag and tries rather pathetically to pull himself up.

  ‘Your mouth is filled with a rather ingenious dummy gag that I have modified for my own training purposes. A circular rubber teat the size of a squash ball rests on a large plastic plate. The plate’s edges are coated in a powerful adhesive similar to the sort used for duct tape. The plate is thus fixed firmly to your upper lip, cheeks and chin, and the teat fills your mouth. Even more ingenious is a property of the rubber teat: when it is moistened, it expands. Thus the teat is currently filling your mouth completely and making any but the most muffled and feeble of babyish squeaks impossible.’

  He knows all too well that he is utterly silenced and can only respond to her with an even angrier look.

  Then, to his surprise, she carefully lowers herself down onto her knees and helps him to sit up. The teasingly soft fabric of the wonderful satin blouse brushes against his highly sensitised shaven and painted skin. The sexual power of this caress is utterly overwhelming and he moans with an agony of unbearable frustration.

  Prunela laughs as she gently manoeuvres him into a sitting position.

  ‘I’m afraid everything will seem so much more sexier from now on. At first you can expect to be driven quite insane. Especially once you’re dressed in your pretty baby girl attire.’

  His eyes widen in amazement and horror. He shakes his head and squeals. Slowly, he is beginning to realise the strange and ultra-kinky fate Prunela has planned for him.

  ‘Yes, that’s right my pretty little sissy pet: a baby girl. Myriam has told me all about your problems at work and in bed, and how frustrated she’s become by your general failure as a man. She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman, and she deserves better…much better. So I’ve agreed to take you off her hands and give her the opportunity to live a normal, healthy life. It’s obvious to me you’re utterly unable to support or love her properly; that you are unable to function as a man in this rather stressful and demanding world. And I’ve got time and money, and an interest in male psychology. That makes you make the perfect subject for an experiment I’ve been thinking about for a long time.’

  As she talks, the index finger of her free hand wanders across his snow white chest and belly towards the aching, stiffened curve of his tightly restrained sex. Her powerful musk perfume tortures his nostrils. Tears of a dreadful, all pervasive sexual frustration trickle from his wide, pale blue eyes. Suddenly, he remembers that tomorrow is his 24th birthday. Then he realises he has no idea what time or day it actually is. He had gone to bed early, feeling very drowsy after drinking a cup of tea made by Myriam. Suddenly, it is beginning to make a terrible sense. But then Prunela rests a blood red finger nail on the rubber covered tip of his sex and he is plunged back into a world of pure and unbearable sexual pleasure.

  He squeals with surprise and his gorgeous mother-in-law bursts into loud, contemptuous laughter.

  ‘The tip of the restrainer is layered with a film of micro perforations that will allow urination. This means you can wear it permanently and still fill your nappy when necessary.’

  He knows she is enjoying tormenting him with this grimly clinical description of a terrible and deeply perverse fate. He wants to push her aside, to scream his absolute resistance, yet he is weaker than ever, truly as helpless as the baby she intends to make him. All he can do is cry like a little girl!

  Then she rises up onto her high heels, moves behind him and slips her strong, satin sheathed arms beneath his. Then, revealing a surprising strength and his own weakness, she quite easily pulls him up onto his unsteady feet. Slowly and rather gently she then helps him back to the long, adult-sized cot and sits him down on what he now sees is a very simple pink rubber mattress. She positions him so that he can lean against the end frame of the cot – otherwise he will fall helplessly onto his back.

  ‘As time passes, you’ll get a little more used to the weakening chemical and be able to move about quite easily on your hands and knees, but I am afraid unassisted walking will be impossible.’

  He finds himself clinging with his mittened hands to the frame and watching the stunning Prunela detail this bizarre and terrible punishment, or “experiment”, his heart pounding, an increasing sense of defeat washing over h
im, sexual arousal now a dreadful fire burning out of control at the very centre of his being. He feel hot tears trip from his chin onto his chest and for a few seconds is enveloped in a catastrophic wave of bitter, dreadful humiliation. He feels his hard, aching cock press into his stomach and moans with intense despair.

  Yet still his eyes devour the buxom perfection of Prunela Wise. Originally, this elegant, sophisticated woman, with the precisely erotic voice of a 1970s television news reader, had been an academic. By 35, she had been a Professor of Biochemistry at UCL. She had abandoned this and a stormy marriage to start her own biotechnology business, focusing on the chemical processes designed to aid recovery from injury and surgery. The business had become incredibly successful, particularly through the development of on-line treatment design programmes. By the time she reached 40, Prunela was a multi-millionaire. Last year she had sold the business to an American pharmaceutical company for a fortune and moved to a secluded country house to pursue “other scientific interests”. This had been a year after her second daughter, Rachel, had perhaps foolish agreed to marry him and thus set in train the events that have led to today.

  He fights to drag his eyes from Prunela’s glorious and tightly wrapped bottom as she leaves him clinging to the cot and moves towards the huge, long wardrobe.

  ‘I’ve spent a lot of time preparing for your arrival,’ she says, stopping by one of the large pink doors and turning to face him, her profile a stunning affirmation of the sexual beauty of the fuller figured woman. ‘Myriam has been unhappy ever since your first nervous breakdown. That’s nearly a year. Then there’s this depression thing – three months of you lounging about the house all day feeling sorry for yourself – especially at your age. And the bedroom…well, you’re certainly not very well endowed, and apparently you can’t stay stiff for five minutes thanks to the anti-depressants. I’ve certainly sorted that out, but you won’t be using it on a woman for as long as you’re with me, and that could be a very long time. Indeed, as far as I’m concerned, ejaculation for you, at least inside a woman, is well and truly a thing of the past.’

  He tries so very hard to hate her, to despise her. But her physical power is overwhelming – despite everything, he desires her with a passion that is almost beyond words.

  She turns back towards the wardrobe and pulls open the door with one firm, determined tug. A squeal of horror fights its way past the mouth filling gag as his future is shockingly revealed. For this half of the wardrobe is filled with an incredible of array of outrageous baby girl dresses, maybe ten of them. Each has its own amazing, hyper-babified design, each is in a strikingly loud colour and covered in thick, intricate lace frilling and inches of frou-frou petticoating. And each is very clearly his size.

  ‘I’ve built up a very good relationship with a lady who specialises in adult baby wear. She’s worked with me for nearly three month, and the results are - I’m sure you’ll agree - rather fantastic.’

  He stares at the dresses with dark fascination. The expensive silks and satins, the thick lace frilling, the ornate patterns of flowers and dolls and teddy bears criss-crossing rich, so deeply feminine fabric. An astonishing and terrifying array that will soon consume him in its ultra-babified embrace. And to his horror, he feels not just fear and outrage, but, at the very edge of consciousness, a definite sexual arousal.

  ‘This one for tonight, I think,’ Prunela announces, pulling one of the most spectacle of the dresses form the wardrobe and holding it up before him with a sly, teasing smile.

  He looks at the dress and blushes furiously. But, thanks to the white body paint, all that is visible is a look of humiliated confusion mingled with anger.

  ‘But we need to get your undies and other danties sorted before the dress, babikins,’ Prunela teases, draping the dress over the edge of the vast play pen and returning to the wardrobe.

  She moves to the opposite side of the wardrobe and opens the second large door to reveal a set of pink wooden drawers with elegant silver handles. From the drawers she methodically selects a collection of what appears to be elaborately babified underwear. She then brings this disturbing pile over to the cot and places it at his side, each graceful step a visual torment to his sex maddened mind. He looks down at the various dainty items and then up at his gorgeous, triumphant mother-in-law, his eyes filled with a terribly ambivalent mixture of defeat and arousal. Her musk perfume washes over him, the rustle of her tight, furiously sexy clothing as she moves is almost a maddeningly physical caress. His cock, so painfully hard, strains and presses into his stomach.

  ‘Yes, sweetness, aren’t they lovely? And aren’t you the luckiest sissy in the world to be able to wear them?’

  Prunela’s mocking tone is almost unbearable. His sense of her power over him is frighteningly absolute. He releases a well muffled sob and her beautiful, cruel smile widens.

  He can only watch helpless and horrified as the beautiful, omniscient Prunela then takes from the pile what is quickly revealed as an adult sized, pampers-style nappy, coloured a light pink, and decorated with a pattern of teddy bears.

  He squeals with outrage and shakes his head angrily as she holds the nappy close to his face. She laughs and gently pulls his hands from the cot side. Then she guides and gently pushes him down onto his back on the rubber mattress. He wants so hard to fight, to resist, but even the mild pressure she applies to move him is too much to resist. Weak and pathetic, once again sobbing profusely, he can only allow himself to be put on his back and then watch helplessly as this gorgeously ample beauty begins to slip the frilled legs of the nappy over his feet and gently, teasingly guide them up his snow white, silky smooth legs. And all the time she is making whispered cooing sounds, gentle baby talk laced with her voices’ natural husky sensuality. And despite his dreadful humiliation, waves of fierce sexual arousal wash over his body and his tear soaked eyes are forced wide by the sheer sexual power of her wonderful, plump empress of perversity.

  In a few minutes the nappy has been pulled up over his thighs and gently manoeuvred into position around his waist, completely covering and consuming his modest, but still angrily erect sex.

  ‘Perfect,’ Prunela whispers, her smile now genuinely soft and loving - teasingly maternal.

  Her pleasure in this so terribly embarrassing dressing is obviously intense, and as her hands rub inadvertently against his hyper sensitised skin, driving him quite mad in the process, sighs of deep pleasure slip from between her beautiful blood red lips.

  After the nappy, comes a pair of semi-opaque white nylon stockings. Once again, Prunela is keen to hold the items of baby attire before him in a cruel, teasing fashion, eagerly drawing his tormented attention to the intricate pattern of silver stars that cover each length of soft nylon. And once again, he can only watch weak and helpless as she carefully draws each stocking over a corresponding foot and up his long, now strikingly feminine legs. Then humiliation turns to shock: the kiss of nylon against his sensitive skin is incredibly pleasurable! Try as he might, he is unable to resist the teasing caress of this hyper-erotic fabric, a fact made embarrassingly apparent by a sudden moan of intense and quite helpless pleasure. This blatant confession of arousal inspires a broad smile of triumph from Prunela.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it lovely, babikins!’ she snaps, her voice filled with a wicked amusement. ‘And just think, you’ll be wearing lovely stockings every day of the week from now on! Aren’t you just the luckiest little sissy imaginable!’

  Once the stockings have been pulled tightly into position at the top of his thighs, she uses a pair of elastic-banded, heavily white lace-frilled garters to secure them in place, leaving him to stare down at his legs in utter amazement. Suddenly, to his deep unease, he is staring at the long, shapely legs of a beautiful young woman. And the astonishing sensual sensation of the nylon makes him painfully aware that these legs are his! Then he stares up at the stunning form of the all powerful Prunela and feels a dreadful confusion built on fear, anger, humiliation and a deep aching sexu
al need.

  She smiles, her lovely dark brown eyes indicating a clear understanding of his torment.

  Still wracked with conflicting emotions, he can only continue to watch helplessly as she takes a pair of adult-sized, pink silk baby booties from the pile and proceeds to slip them gently one by one over his white nylon sheathed feet. Delicate pink silk laces run through the front of the booties, and she ties them in tight, fat bows, whispering in a teasingly maternal voice “there there babikins” as she does so.

  Then there are the plastic panties: pink and semi-transparent, edged at the waist and legs with thick white lace. She pulls these up over his bootied feet and shapely, stockinged legs, before pulling them snugly in place over the thick, tight nappy. The strange crinkling sound that accompanies the positioning of the panties is deeply embarrassing, and he realises that it will now accompany his every babified movement. Fresh tears of crushing humiliation spill from his wide, tormented eyes. Prunela whispers more teasing baby talk and then gently helps her stunned, weakened charge to sit up right.

  He can only continue to watch helplessly as she then takes a pink rubber min-corset from the pile of baby undies and fits it around his slender, painted waist. A series of silk laces run through silver eyes fixed to each side panel of the corset. Prunela, again providing evidence of her considerable physical strength, pulls the two panels tightly together at the base of his back and then proceeds to use the silk laces to bind them even more tightly together. The sides of the corset dig into his waist and he feels the air forced from his lungs. He grunts a clear and shocked discomfort and Prunela unleashes a cruel laugh.

  ‘Little baby girls need to managed their figures.’

  The corset is painfully tight and restricts his already challenged powers of movement considerably. Yet any serious contemplation of this latest humiliation is cast aside as Prunela strolls back to the wardrobe. His eyes once more drink up her plump sexual beauty with a fierce, angry thirst. His whole body seems clamped in a vice unbearable desire. The sound of her nyloned thighs rubbing together is a sado-erotic torture, the sway of her large, yet perfectly formed buttocks a tease beyond human endurance.