At first, I had assumed the bondage to be some kind of weird and immediate punishment. But now it was clear that it was merely packaging. I was being prepared for a mysterious and frightening journey…to where?
As the car moved out onto the main road and its speed increased considerably, I tried to think rationally, to contemplate what was happening to me. Yet even as I struggled to work out the true nature of my fate, I was overwhelmed by intense sexual feelings. My sex was rock hard, inspired by the teasing caress of the stocking, the powerful taste of my step-mother's sex, her gentle words and hands and a thousand memories of her and her two gorgeous daughters. Try as I might, my mind seemed to be unable to focus on the challenge of my future. Thoughts of elegant, black nylon sheathed legs, of perfectly formed breasts, of the highest heels, and soft, blood red lips, and dark, sensual eyes flooded my already perverse imagination. Yes, it was all far too much and for a few terrible moments I was sure I would ejaculate violently into the stocking. But the way my step-mother had secured the cording seemed to make full and final erection impossible.
At first I thought the journey would be a long and testing one, but after only 20 or 30 minutes the car turned off the main road and pulled to a halt on what felt like a bumpy gravel path. After a few seconds the car began to move gain, this time down what felt like an even bumpier country track. The car's superb suspension made the ride far less uncomfortable than it might have been, and after five more minutes, the elegant, expensive vehicle again drew to a halt. Doors opened and closed. The boot was opened. I could hear muffled voices. Then I was hauled up out of the boot and once again I was being carried.
I was silent and very frightened. For some reason, I found myself imagining the very worst: I had been taken into the heart of the thick woodland that surrounded the town near the family home, to be quietly disposed of!
But then I was aware in some strange way that we were inside a form of dwelling, that I was being carried down a corridor and then into a room, into a large, echo plagued room in a large and possibly very old house.
I was placed on a hard surface. I remained still, quite terrified. Then more hands were upon me and the bag that was my prison was being unzipped. Thanks to the blindfold and the hood, I could see nothing, but immediately the voices were clear. The voices of women: my mother and another person, a stranger.
'How old is he?'
The voice was hard, cool and foreign.
'Eighteen.'
My mother's voice, calm, indifferent.
'He looks younger.'
'He's a little under-developed. Naturally…petite.'
'Yes, I can see that. But that will help us. There is already a distinct femininity.'
The word "femininity" filled my pounding heart with a terrible dread. I remembered distinctly feminine references and my mother's use of the word "transformation". What were these women planning for me!?
Then there were more hands upon my body. The blindfold was removed and the stocking hood pulled very roughly and quickly from my head.
I gasped into the gag as my whole being was suddenly plunged in an all-pervasive and utterly blinding white light. It took nearly a minute for me to be able to begin to make out my surroundings, and what I eventually saw inspired a total and terrible fear.
I was on a table, a white marble, oblong table placed near the centre of a large white tiled room, a room that resembled a huge operating theatre.
Standing immediately before me there were four women. My step-mother was one of them. Next to her was an older woman with very striking grey streaked black hair bound in a tight bun with a very ornate diamond and steel clasp. She was dressed in a tight white sweater and a long black skirt (with a very thick black leather belt). Her hard, grey eyes possessed a harsh intensity that immediately told me she was in charge of this strange, frightening place.
Standing next to her were two younger women, a tall blonde and a shorter, plumper red head. Both were perhaps in their early to mid-twenties and dressed in exactly the same and very striking manner: a very tight white sweater (similar to that worn by the older woman), a black micro-mini-skirt, sheer black nylon tights and high-heeled, black patent leather court shoes. The blonde wore her hair in a pretty ponytail, while the red head preferred a loser bun held in place by a black wooden clasp. They were both very beautiful, with figures that easily justified the revealing and highly erotic uniform. As they were standing a little further back from the table, it was possible for me to see their full, very impressive forms and feel a powerful and highly embarrassing sexual thrill.
I also noticed that each of the three women wore a gleaming pink, rose-shaped broach over their left breasts.
'I am Lillian Stroheim,' the older woman announced, beholding me with a stern, soul crushing gaze. 'And you are in the Pink Rose Sissy Day Care Centre.'
I looked at her in awe, amazement and utter terror. I moaned fearfully into the panty gag and tried to avoid staring directly at her very impressive bosom, the word "sissy" ringing in my mind like a bell of utter and inescapable doom.
'Today,' she continued, her Northern European accent deep, dark and filled with the terrible secrets of my unclear fate, 'you will begin your induction training as a Pink Rose baby maid and sissy slave. During the next four weeks you will train in permanent residence at the centre. At the end of this period, you will be formally registered as one of our twenty day care sissies and returned to the care of your loving mother and sisters. You will spend 9 hours each weekday undergoing further training and physical transformation. The training day will be 8.00am to 5.00pm, Monday to Friday. Evenings and weekends will be spent at home.'
I listened to her in a state of petrified astonishment, to this talk of training and sissies and "baby maids". I was to become a "baby maid"? What on earth was that!? To my horror, Ms Stroheim quickly explained.
'The feminisation process will begin immediately. Your body will undergo the core preliminary preparations. Then you will be made up and dressed. Then you will be placed in the novice nursery with two other new entrants, who arrived yesterday evening. After breakfast and the first round of hormone injections, you will begin your induction training.'
The word that said it all: "feminisation". My eyes widened with a new, all pervasive terror at its husky, cruel utterance, and by the time Ms Stroheim had completed her terrible revelations, I was squealing furiously into the pungent, inescapable panty gag and wriggling angrily on the cool surface of the marble table, my tightly stockinged sex, still embarrassingly erect, swinging to and throw in an absurd and vaguely lurid manner, my always small, feminine backside performing a ballet of frightened wiggles. Already, I was on the awful pathway, already I was trapped in the straight-jacket of femininity. I look at my beautiful, buxom step-mother with tear soaked, terror-filled eyes. Yes, she knew all my secrets: my helpless desire for her and, more importantly, for the trappings of her splendid femininity. She had seen into my soul and extracted a desire that was now to be fully exposed and moulded in this strange and awful academy of…feminisation.
The two younger women stepped forward. As they grabbed my tethered form, I found myself wondering what had become of Anita and Angeline. I had assumed they had travelled in the car with my step-mother. But now it was unclear whether they were in the building or still at home.
The two young women were surprisingly strong. As they hauled me off the table, their powerful, sandalwood perfume washed over my naked, bound body and the softness of their tight sweaters added to a general and very considerable physical teasing that, even in this terrible situation, ensured I remained very hard and significantly flustered!
I yelped with fear as I was carried only a few feet and then made to stand precariously upright. Hands worked free the stockings binding my arms and legs and suddenly I was free of bondage. My first thought was to try and rush from the room, but even as this thought turned to a physical urge, the young women were upon me, one grasping an arm, the other a leg. And it was only the
n, as the blonde pulled my arm above my head, and the redhead pulled my leg out at a 45 degree angle to the rest of my body, that I began to understand what was about to happen. For as I looked down at the white tiled floor, I saw that I was standing directly over a silver coloured, circular grill - a drain cover. The tiles sloped inward slightly from points marked by two metal bolts fixed to the floor, attached to which were two leather shackles, one positioned a few inches from each of my feet. And it was into the left shackle that my left foot was now being forced. And it was into a shackle attached to one end of a long metal bar, which was itself attached to the ceiling by two long silver chains, that my right wrist was now being attached, a bar only a foot or so above my head, and which the tall blonde reached with hardly an effort.
Then my right foot and left wrist were the also secured to the corresponding shackles and, as the two lovely young females stepped back to consider their kinky labours, I found myself forced into the shape of a loose "X". I moaned into the gag and stared at them with pleading, desperate eyes, my nylon sheathed sex rising up before me like a confession of the darkest masochistic desire. And, here, I knew, was the simple, terrible truth.
I looked over at my stepmother and the mysterious Ms Stroheim. I could now see that her long black skirt covered virtually the whole of her lower body, revealing only exquisitely shaped, black nylon sheathed ankles and feet resting in a pair of black patent leather court shoes with cruel, testing 5 inch heels!
In my stepmother's eyes there was a terrible, blunt cruelty that betrayed the sadistic pleasure she was taking in my fate. I looked at her and realised how utterly gorgeous she was and how much, despite everything, I wanted her. Then I remembered her soft, teasing words as a lay bound and tightly gagged beneath her splendid form, her wondrous perfume washing over my naked, tortured body. The promise of making all my dreams come true, the whispered promise as she gently slid the devastatingly arousing scented black stocking over my boiling, desperate cock.
The blonde had now walked over to the far wall. I watched as she pressed a large red button set on a steel panel and then heard a strange electrical noise above my head. Suddenly the bar was being pulled upward by moving chains and I was going with it. Indeed, in a few seconds, I found that the loose "X" had been pulled uncomfortably tight and I was stretched out on an invisible vertical rack, totally helpless and totally exposed.
Tears of discomfort and fear trickled from eyes and Ms Stroheim's cruel smile widened. The blonde returned to my stretched, intimately displayed form and then roughly pulled the duct tape from my lips. I squealed with pain and outrage. Then the panties were pulled from my mouth. For a few heavenly seconds I was ungagged. I managed to direct a pathetic "please" at my stepmother, before the blonde stuffed what appeared and felt like a very large circular pink sponge into my mouth. It's heavy, soapy scent induced an immediately urge to vomit and I squealed more high-pitched, helplessly girlish pleas for mercy before the sponge, as if reacting to the remaining dampness in my mouth, began to expand. Suddenly every intimate crevice of my mouth was filled and my tongue was pressed flat against the base of my mouth. I was now unable even to squeak my outrage and fear, and, thanks to the tight fit, unable to force this wicked yet strangely soft intruder from my mouth.
Then I was returned to the terrible space between heaven and hell that was the torment of my painfully vulnerable sex. The redhead moved very close to me, a teasing smile lighting up her very pretty face.
'I bet you love having your willy all wrapped up in soft nylon, babikins,' she whispered, her moist, blood red lips glistening in the electric light of the room.
I met her emerald-eyed gaze and knew there was nothing I could do to resist whatever torture she had planned. The sense of helplessness was soul-destroying. I felt the already strained muscles in my arms and legs tense with instinctive fear as she stepped forward and began very gently to untie the ribbon binding my scrotum. I screamed with unbearable pleasure, a scream that was transformed into the slightest whimper by the fiendish sponge gag.
Then, very slowly, and with her piercing eyes never leaving mine, she began to remove the stocking. I tried to buck and pull away from her devilish, expert hands, but I was pulled painfully rigid, and even the slightest movement was impossible.
Then, with one swift movement, the stocking was free and I was fully and terribly exposed to this gathering of mysterious and terrifying females. And as soon as the stocking was cast off, the blonde stepped forward, now armed with what appeared to be a large, white aerosol can. My eyes moved fearfully from the can to her splendid, ample breasts, which were rising and falling rapidly beneath the tight white sweater. She was stunningly beautiful, and her scented presence only made my helpless and deeply ambivalent sexual excitement so much worse.
As my eyes moved from her breasts to the perfect curves of long, black nylon sheathed legs, she pressed the black button on the top of the aerosol and a jet of thick pink cream suddenly spurted across my chest. I tensed as the cold cream was sprayed over the entire upper half of my body, then over my pubes and sex and down my legs. Even my arms and the leather shackles were covered. And within a few minutes I was entombed from the tips of my toes to my finger nails in this odd, very thick cream, which stank of roses and turpentine.
The blonde made great play of ensuring that a large quantity of the pink foam was aimed directly at my tightly stretched buttocks and even into my back passage. I squealed uselessly as this particularly unpleasant invasion occurred, but even as I unleashed my pathetic protests, there was something deep inside me that found this bizarre humiliation terribly exciting.
Once my body was covered, the blonde pulled a pair of pink shaped swimming goggles over my head to cover my eyes. I tried to resist the latest bizarre and frightening intervention, but she held my head with a very powerful free arm and then slapped my face with a terrible, angry force once the goggles were positioned.
Reeling from this assault, I was helpless to resist what happened next: the submersion of my entire head, including my face, in a layer of the foam. As the pink cream covered the goggles I squealed for a mercy I knew would never come.
Then there was silence, an expectant and deeply troubling silence. I had been totally enveloped in the cream. Every inch of me, including my hair, was smothered. I was held suspended and cocooned. And then there was a sudden and awful change.
Within a few seconds the cool cream seemed to heat up. A strange, deeply irritating tingling began to spread over my expertly restrained form, a tingling that quickly increased in power and eventually mutated into a distinct burning sensation. I tried to squeal louder and managed to produce only the faintest whimper of utter despair and terror. I struggled with all my somewhat limited might against the irresistible shackles that so very effectively held me firm and panic enveloped my mind. Tears of horror flooded from my goggled eyes and the sound of female laughter echoed around the large, tiled room. I cursed these cruel, perverse women. Did my crimes of indifference, laziness and helpless fetishism deserve this elaborate and awful punishment?
Then another shocking development. As the heat increased to such a level that I was sure my skin would soon begin to fry, a heart-stopping jet of cold water struck my chest. Then it was systematically criss-crossing my body and, in the process, washing the thick, pink foam from my tenderised form. I was filled with an almost unbearable sense of absolute relief. The water was now moving around me, over my back, between my buttocks (a teasingly prolonged moment of semi-erotic cleansing), over my legs and arms and then over my head. In a few minutes I was viewing my cruel captors through waterlogged goggles and the painful heat was only a terrible, fleeting memory.
Yet as the water and discarded cream trickled off my body, I felt something odd run down my back and face. Then a thick clump of hair became entangled in my goggles. Then I realised what the cream had done to my body, and especially my hair, and I let out another ultra-muffled squeal of horror.
'The cream removes all body
hair quickly and very effectively,' Ms Stroheim explained. 'And the removal is permanent. Thus skins of our sissy charges are kept silky smooth at all times.'
Too horrified to protest or question, my head lowered in a deep and horrible shame, I offered no resistance as the blonde removed the goggles. I stared down at my still hard sex and saw a strange, babified sex shorn of all pubic hair. I also saw that the few hairs on my slight, boyish chest had also disappeared. In their place was skin that had turned a strange light pink, a skin that now seemed devoid of any mark or blemish, a strangely fresh and new skin: the skin of a baby maid.
I watched the water and my hair swirl around and disappear into the silver grill of the drain directly beneath my tormented, stretched body and felt as if my very masculinity was being flushed away forever.
The next ordeal was a return to penis bondage, but of a distinctly more intricate and perverse kind; and it was once again managed by the cruel-eyed redhead, her smile now widened by my recent denuding. She stepped forward as the blonde returned a long, pink coloured hose pipe to a circular metal rack held beneath the marble table. In her left hand, the redhead held what looked like the finger of a glove, a long prink tube made from some form of rubber. As she positioned herself within a few inches of my very hard and exposed sex, she looked up at me with cruel, emerald eyes.
'Now, stay very still, babikins. We don't want to have to remove your naughty little man just yet, but we do need to keep it under control.'
I looked down in horror and once again unleashed a series of pointless and extremely well muffled squeals. Yet, despite these renewed protests, I tried to keep as still as possible as the redhead very gently began to slip the glove over my hard, hungry sex.
Tears of frustration and a terrible, dark pleasure trickled from my wide eyes as the glove's very soft rubber body edged up my boiling sex.
Silken Tales Page 18