Silken Tales

by Christina Shelly

  Prunela returns to the rack of outrageous baby girl dresses lining one side of the wardrobe. From this mass of humiliating ultra-femininity, she takes a cream coloured underskirt petticoat. It is very wide and tremendously thick, designed in a classic tutu style with layers of alternating white and pink organza. Again, smiling with triumph and cruel humour, she returns to her helpless charge. Once back at his side, she leans forward, providing his tormented eyes with a generous view of her splendid bosom, and slips the elasticated band of the petticoat over his bootied feet and up his stockinged legs. Briefly, she helps him stand up before sliding the petticoat up around his waist. Then he is eased back into a sitting position, allowing the thick, scented petiocoat to open up around his nylon sheathed legs like a beautiful pink and white flower.

  ‘Absolutely gorgeous,’ Prunela whispers, deeply amused. ‘What are pretty little thing you’re turning out to be!’

  He can only stare her with wide, angry eyes, force a squeak of outrage past the ingenious dummy gag and fight back more tears. At the same time, however, the strange feeling of helpless sensual pleasure that accompanies the elaborate sissy attire remains inescapable. His tightly restrained erection, now buried deep beneath the plastic panties and the thick nappy, remains as potent and desperate as when he awoke. And as he struggles with these intense conflicting emotions, Prunela takes the incredible baby girl dress from the side of the huge play pen and holds it up before her helpless sissy captive.

  ‘The piece de resistance,’ she whispers, her dark brown eyes lit by the fire of a particularly cruel passion.

  Now he can see the dress in all its astonishing and intricate glory, and a sense of utter defeat washes over him as he realises he is seconds away from being submerged in its teasing, babyish embrace.

  It is made from a bright pink satin, with a high, white lace frilled neck and long, puffed arms with buttoned sleeves. It is very short and shaped like an inverted cone from the neck to a wide, lace frilled skirt. Hoops of finely patterned white and pink silk traverse the widening cone, and in between the hoops are delicately stitched flower patterns. It is an astonishing masterpiece of sissified ultra-femininity.

  He watches, stunned, horrified and aroused despite himself as Prunela turns the dress to demonstrate a row of beautiful pearl buttons that traverse the upper half of the back, beginning at the top of the high neck. She slowly releases the buttons and pulls open the dress. Then, a teasing smile lighting up her beautiful face, she leans down and begins to ease the dress up his nylon imprisoned legs. Once she reaches the be-frilled edge of the plastic panties, she helps the weakened sissy slave off the edge of cot and guides the dress up the rest of his feminised form.

  As the long satin sleeves are pulled over his slender, white arms, he feels the aching sexual arousal, the possessive and deeply troubling excitement, increase. He fights to retain a sense of anger and outrage, to use the humiliation of this bizarre fate to fuel resistance. But he is weakening. As each part of this strange, devilish forced feminisation progresses, he is aware that he is becoming more sexually stimulated, that his rational male mind is being consumed by a dark, masochistic need to be dominated and babified. He is appalled, yet also helplessly fascinated.

  Her powerful musky perfume a terrible tease, the sound of her ample, curvaceous form moving inside the tight, erotic folds of her elaborate clothing a sonic torment beyond this weak male’s endurance, Prunella slides the dress over his shoulders and then begins slowly to button it up his back, thus sealing him tightly in this fetish masterpiece of absolute submission and revealing the truly devastating power of his wicked transformation.

  The lace of the high neck tickles his dimpled chin as Prunela helps him back to his feet. As he moves, his body is overwhelmed by the soft caress of the dress and petticoating. He feels the layers of organza kiss his nylon sheathed thighs and moans with a helpless and surprised arousal into the fat dummy gag. The pleasure of this baby costume is unavoidable. A terrible shame accompanies sexual stimulation; he feels tears of a terrible confusion fill his wide, girlish eyes.

  ‘I know, babikins,’ Prunela teases. ‘You don’t want to admit how much you love being wrapped up in pretty feminine frillies. But you’re fighting your own desire, my sweet little pet. And no man can fight that fundamental physical power. So relax and accept your fate.’

  He looks up at her with a renewed anger, not prepared to give in to this terrible, humiliating torture. And her cruel smile widens: it is clear she will enjoy the battle that is to come.

  She lets him lean against the cot and takes the final item of baby attire from the rubber mattress: a beautifully designed pink satin bonnet. As he watches Prunela hold up the bonnet before him, he is aware of an increasing physical strength. The drug that has turned his muscles to putty seems to be wearing off, although his erection remains painfully rigid.

  The bonnet is very heavily frilled at its edges with thick pink lace, and a long length of silk ribbon runs down from each side. It is of a very simple design, and its colour matches exactly the spectacular baby girl dress now so overwhelmingly consuming his body. Prunella slips it very gently over his shaven head and then pulls its soft, frilled sides down around his face and under his chin, before binding it tightly in place with the ribbons in a fat and beautifully shaped bow.

  His gorgeous, full figured mother-in-law then steps back to admire her expert handiwork, allowing him a further view of her truly stunning physique.

  ‘Oh my,’ she whispers, clearly very impressed by the power of the transformation.

  She then takes him by a mittened hand and leads him over towards the wardrobe.

  Immediately, he is aware that he can walk much more confidently, that the dizziness and weakness are passing. Yet he is also aware of two other things: the humiliating fact of his elaborate sissy attire, that makes each step a dreadful affirmation of his embarrassing subjugation thanks to the rustle of petticoats and the babyish squeak of plastic panties, and an even more bizarre fact: that there is something buried deep inside his backside that is moving in a teasing up and down motion with each step he takes! The particularly strange sensation of the anal intruder inspires an almost immediate squeal of surprise which in turn inspires a loud, mocking laugh from the beautiful, all powerful Prunela.

  ‘I see you’ve finally come across the plug.’

  He looks at her with baffled, tormented eyes, becoming gradually aware that the teasing motion of “the plug” is far from unpleasant.

  ‘You have been fitted with an anal plug,’ Prunela explains.’ It is designed to ensure hygiene and also aid a reorientation of sexual pleasure. As much as you will come to love the sensual pleasure of your baby clothing in a deeply obsessive and fetishistic manner, so you will learn to see your arse as a source of pleasure equal to if not greater than that naughty male member that is now so tightly restrained.’

  This outrageous explanation fills him with renewed anger. He snorts his displeasure into the gag and glares at his beautiful mother-in-law.

  ‘I suggest you calm down, otherwise you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a very sound spanking.’

  He falls silent, but begins to realise that, as his body strength increases, there is the possibility of escape. It is now just a matter of picking his moment. So, he allows himself to be led before the tall mirror built into the centre of wardrobe, each step made small and tentative by the teasing caress of the plug. Then, he finds himself facing a strange and deeply distributing reflection. A sense of utter self-destruction washes over him, an effect that Prunela has obviously planned carefully.

  For standing before him is the image of an outrageously babified, but strangely attractive young woman. The striking pink bonnet, with its heavily frilled edges, frames the pretty face of a china doll with wide, fear and desire-filled pale blue eyes, its mouth covered by the large circular plate of a dummy. The tight dress, an explosion of sissified femininity, is strikingly beautiful in its intricate design, resting on a sea of th
ick, layered organza. The frilled edges of the humiliating plastic panties are just visible beneath the astonishing petticoating. Then there are the legs: long, very shapely and sheathed in a second skin of teasingly soft nylon. And finally, there are the sweet pink booties and matching, fingerless mittens. An astonishing vision that, despite everything, he finds unavoidably erotic.

  ‘Yes, my pretty little baby flower, you’re utterly divine,’ Prunela whispers, her voice husky with a dark desire. ‘I’m really quite surprised by just how cute you’ve turned out to be. And this, I assure you, is only the beginning.’

  He looks at Prunela, standing nearly a foot taller than him in the reflection, and his infantile state is even more pronounced. She towers over him like an all powerful goddess. He is her dainty, helplessly sissy creation. Yet even as this profoundly humiliating fact makes itself unbearably apparent, he is aroused, his tightly restrained sex fighting desperately against its inescapable rubber and steel prison.

  ‘Now then,’ Prunela says, taking him by a mittened hand, ‘it is time for tea...and then a little surprise.’

  Stunned and horrified, confused and startled by the strangest and most powerful of desires, he can only follow her to the large adult-sized high chair at the centre of this bizarre nursery, his eyes helplessly pinned to her incredibly impressive backside despite the awful chorus of rustles and squeaks of the baby clothing and the unyielding teasing of the anal plug.

  Once at the chair, he realises now is the only real opportunity to escape. Spurred on by the prospect of being forced to sit in the tower-like and ridiculous chair, he suddenly pulls his hand from Prunela and makes a dash for the door. Yet it is far from “a dash”: thanks to the clothes and the plug, he finds it incredibly hard to move quickly. Instead he finds himself shuffling desperately forward towards the nursery’s single exit, his desperate, rather pathetic efforts accompanied by Prunela’s mocking laughter.

  She makes no effort to pursue, watching with a contemptuous glare as he reaches the door and attempts to turn its large silver knob-style handle with a thickly mittened hand. Two things immediately become apparent: thanks to the mittens, it is extremely difficult to turn the smooth handle, and whether or not the handle can be turned, the door is locked. He squeals with a desperate frustration into the mouth filling dummy gag and wiggles in his bizarre baby attire as he tugs uselessly on the door.

  ‘You silly little baby!’ Prunella snorts. ‘You look ridiculous. Trying to act like an adult. Surely you must realise by now that the days when you could pretend to be a normal human male are well and truly behind you.’

  As Prunella talks, she moves across the room towards his struggling, angry and so sweetly babified form. In just a few seconds she is rising over him like a beautiful she bear. She grabs his arm and hauls him back towards the chair. He tries to pull away, squealing furiously into the gag, but her grip is vice-like and her strength very considerable.

  ‘Now, get up into chair like a good baby, or I assure you there will be very uncomfortable consequences.’

  Tears returning to his eyes, he can only obey, a sense of truly profound helplessness now flooding his body like the weakening drug that had so effectively allowed him to be transformed into this strange babified being.

  The chair is made from beautiful crafted, pink coloured wood. It has a wide step at its base, which he is helped onto by Prunela before being turned and gently guided onto a pink leather seat. She then helps him to rest his satin wrapped arms onto the wooden arms of the chair, each of which is fitted with a thick, pink leather shackle. Hs wrists are quickly slipped through the shackles and then secured tightly in place. He can only watch helplessly as his gorgeous mother-in-law then repeats this process with shackles fitted to the legs of the chair, thus securing one nylon sheathed ankle to each leg, leaving him held prisoner in an adult-sized baby’s high chair, his escape attempt a pathetic failure. The sitting position forces the short skirt of the baby dress to explode open, revealing the layers of organza petticoating and the deeply humiliating plastic panties. Exposed and utterly helpless, tears of despair trickle down his alabaster cheeks. There is truly no escape from this terrible and perverse fate.

  ‘Now, I’m just going to get your supper and a lovely little surprise,’ Prunela whispers, before tickling him playfully under his chin.

  His eyes continue to feed on her wondrous, ample form as she strolls across the nursery, unlocks the door and disappears into the hallway beyond. Then he is alone again and staring into a deeply humiliating and utterly inescapable sissy abyss.

  He tentatively strains against the leather shackles holding his wrists and ankles, but he is held soundly in place. Now he is sitting upright, he is even more aware of the plug pressing deep into his backside. He tries to limit his movements, as even the slightest wiggle sets off an embarrassingly pleasurable tease by the fiendish intruder. His erection remains rock hard and helpless in its awful rubber restraint. The soft embrace of the baby wear is constant and, to his anger and outrage, intensely arousing. He sees now how the sex drug will distort and define his perceptions; how his ability to resist this awful fate will be utterly undermined by the careful redirection of his fundamental libidinal urges. Prunela will make him love his sissy attire and her absolute control over him. Even as he thinks through this dark future, he finds himself becoming excited. The thought of her, the incredible look of her, the tormenting smell of her, the sound of her clothing caressing that startlingly ample body. He moans a terrible, aching and inescapable need into the fat dummy gag and more tears of frustration and anger fill his baby blue eyes.

  Then there are voices. Yes: voices. Then there is laughter. Two female voices becoming louder as they move down the corridor towards the nursery. And even before the door opens, he is aware that Myriam is with his mother-in-law. And immediately he is gripped by a powerful mixture of panic, fury and crushing embarrassment.

  He strains desperately against the leather shackles and begins to squeal angrily into the fat dummy gag. But there is nothing he can do. The door is open; Prunela is entering the bizarre prison nursery and behind her is Myriam, his beautiful wife.

  Her cry of surprise fills the room and shatters the weakened remnants of his self-esteem.

  ‘Oh my god! He’s absolutely darling! I never imagined. You’ve done an incredible job, mummy…absolutely incredible!’

  Her first words, shouted rather than spoken, fill him with anger and an unbearable humiliation. He tries to avoid looking at her, but that is impossible: for Myriam is dressed to kill. Like her mother, she is a tall brunette with dark brown eyes. Yet her figure is far less generous, although certainly well proportioned. At 25, she is undoubtedly a very striking woman, a woman that any man would be proud to call his wife.

  She is wearing her long, thick black hair loose. It falls in a gorgeous dark waterfall over bronzed and bare shoulders, for tonight she is wearing an incredibly provocative “tube style” mini-dress of striking black spandex. This perfectly accentuates her incredible figure, especially her firm, large bosom and beautifully formed backside. The fact that it barely reaches her upper thighs allows the splendid revelation of long, perfectly shaped legs sealed in sheer black nylon, legs leading to feet encased in black patent leather, three inch stiletto heeled mules. Surely she has never been so beautiful, so deliberately desirable. And how much he wants her, how desperately he craves her. And how much he regrets the way he has behaved during the last twelve months, behaviour he knows has been the inspiration for this strange and perverse fate.

  He is helpless to resist as Myriam moves in very close to his babified form and begins to run her hands over his white nylon legs.

  ‘Aren’t you a lucky little baby!?’ she teases, her voice that of a proud mother playing with her infant daughter. ‘So sweet and precious. I bet you love these pretty stockings. And this gorgeous petticoating!’

  Tears of crushing humiliation stream from his eyes as he fights to avoid her cruel, mocking gaze.

&n
bsp; He squeals with surprise as her hands then slip beneath the petticoating to seek out the plastic panties and the nappy beneath.

  ‘And your lovely nappy – all tight and snug!’

  Her powerful rose perfume washes over him like a tsunami of teasing eroticism. His eyes fix on her splendid bosom. His sex fights uselessly against the unyielding restrainer.

  ‘I bet it keeps that naughty willy of yours under control,’ she continues. ‘Not that it was much use for anything...’

  His eyes, suddenly filled with anger, lock onto hers momentarily. Following the nervous breakdown, he had been prescribed powerful anti-depressant drugs that had made it very difficult to achieve orgasm.

  ‘Not that you were ever really any good at sex with that little thing.’

  Her eyes are filled with contempt. He lowers his head, defeated, knowing her bitter words are painfully true.

  ‘Yes, this is much more suitable for you. Adult life was just too much for such a weakling. Now you can live with mummy and be a lovely, sweet and helpless little baby. And I can find myself a proper man with a proper dick. One who knows how to satisfy a woman.’

  Her words, so deliberately provocative, have the desired effect: he sits up, pulling hard at his bonds and squeals angrily into the fat dummy gag. A furious sense of outrage mixes with utter helplessness to create an intense and inescapable frustration.

  The women laugh, their beautiful eyes filled with cruel amusement.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend you’re angry, poppet,’ Myriam continues. ‘Mummy tells me you’re as hard as a rock. That she’s had to put you in a restrainer to keep you from going off bang. I know you love it, I know this is what you’ve always secretly wanted to be: a pretty baby girl in nappies sucking on her big fat dummy. Well now all your pervey little dreams are about to come true…big time.’