Silken Tales

by Christina Shelly

  'Don't get carried away now, babikins,' the redhead whispered, her eyes fixed firmly on her kinky labours. 'If you come, I'm afraid you'll find yourself minus cock and balls by lunch time.'

  Her threat, which I had no reason to doubt, inspired silence, stillness and a desperately hard effort to concentrate on the colour of the ceiling tiles.

  The glove was slipped over the full length of my cock and then positioned very carefully over my bulging, crimson balls. As it snapped into place, I sensed a very pleasant but also very robust constriction.

  'The restrainer allows virtually full erection,' Ms Stroheim explained to my stepmother, ‘but restricts the expansion required for ejaculation.'

  My stepmother nodded and smiled. 'What an excellent idea.'

  Then she looked directly into my eyes and I felt a helpless sexual charge spread across my tormented body.

  By this time the blonde had also stepped into my field of vision, and what she held before me inspired a genuine and total horror. For in her elegant hands was a long, thick dildo, or at least what appeared to be a dildo!

  'The plugging and subsequent training of the back passage is an essential part of a sissy's education,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'The anal vibrator allows both stimulation and punishment. Thanks to tiny electrical cells built into its rubber walls, it is can be controlled remotely. Also, it is hollow, to assist the daily enema regime and the recycling of waste matter.'

  As my step-mother's lovely, wicked smile widened, the blonde held the vibrator closer, to ensure me a full, teasing view. It was made from some form of very hard pink rubber and, despite its curved, phallic shape, was, as Ms Stroheim had noted, hollow.

  The blonde then disappeared behind me and my anal passage tensed instinctively. Yet the first part of the formal intrusion began not with the vibrator, but with an injection. As the blonde took up some mysterious position behind me, the redhead again stepped forward, this time armed with a large and very threatening syringe.

  'The injection will ensure a prolonged relaxation of the sphincter muscle. Over the next month, special treatments will ensure a permanent relaxing.'

  The redhead inserted the syringe deep into my left thigh and I squealed with a mixture of outrage and utter terror. Her smile widened as my humiliation and fear reached their most extreme. I was in the hands of truly wicked women. Yet even as the cruel needle punctured my pink, silken skin, my erection strained even harder against its ingenious and completely unforgiving restraint.

  Then, suddenly, I felt my body collapse beneath me. It felt as if every muscle had suddenly turned to jelly. I slumped forward and was sure I was about to lose consciousness. However, after a few seconds, I was able to pull my head back up and as I did so felt hands gently parting my buttocks. Then there was a finger inside me, a damp finger that pushed deep into my darkest passage, a finger spreading a layer of some cool gel over the walls of my anus. Then the finger was pulled out and something cold and hard replaced it. All of this happened as if it were happening to someone else. My arse felt detached from the rest of my body; and when the vibrator was pushed deeper into it, it felt like a pencil being pushed into dough.

  Eventually the effort to insert the vibrator became greater. I sensed the release of physical energy, the expenditure of human effort. Then there was a sudden shift forward and the vibrator seemed to lodge deep inside me.

  'Take him down and prepare the body paint.'

  Ms Stroheim's words sounded as if spoken underwater. The chains were lowered and I was released from the shackles. I immediately collapsed forward into the arms of the redhead and the blonde and had to be carried back to the white marble table, where I was laid out upon a white rubber mat.

  Here, I was subject to perhaps the most bizarre and worrying part of my ordeal so far; for as soon as I was set out on my back, my body not my own, the blonde revealed yet another white aerosol can. Yet this one released a fine, warm and snow white coloured spray which turned out to be silk-finish paint. This was directed across my exposed torso for at least five minutes. Then she set to work on my thighs and legs. As she did so, the redhead used a very soft white haired brush to spread the paint across my body in a much more consistent and detailed manner, ensuring every inch of skin was properly and fully covered.

  'The body paint is actually a form of industrial dye that has been specially enhanced to seal with human skin. It is non-toxic and extremely robust. It will allow the skin to breathe and sweat in the normal way while remaining resistant to normal removal techniques.'

  Ms Stroheim's sinister words echoed through my head as I was turned onto my back. The spraying and brushing then continued. Soon after, the goggles were reapplied to my face and my face and shaven head were also covered. Then the goggles were removed and the redhead carefully "coloured in" the space around my eyes and my eye lids.

  Within 20 minutes, I was completed covered in a suit of white body paint. Every centimetre of my body had been expertly sealed. I looked up into white electric light and felt tears trickle down alabaster cheeks. I moaned into the sponge gag, and then, still face down, I felt my body being pulled along the table and my legs parted.

  'Incredible,' I heard my mother say, her voice hoarse, excited.

  I remembered the taste of her panties and felt my cock press angrily into the rubber mat. Then hands were again reaching down between my buttocks.

  'We begin and subsequently sustain the recycling process with enemas,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'We use a special medical soap and warm water, mixed with a vitamin cream and sterilisation agent.'

  Something, some appropriately formed object, was then slotted into the hollow frame of the vibrator. It was pushed with vigour beyond the vibrator and deep inside me. I moaned with genuine pain as it seemed to slip into the very heart of my bowels, but found the earlier immobilising injection made any resistance utterly impossible.

  Then there was a liquid warmth inside me. Some thick, warm liquid was flowing through the vibrator and into my bowels. I was being given an enema!

  I tried to position my head to view the contraption that was so wickedly filling my gut, but only the slightest movement was possible.

  Soon, I felt a strange and uncomfortable expansion of my bowels and an embarrassing gaseous gurgling began to fill the room. The women laughed and I sobbed. When would this dreadful and utterly perverse humiliation end!?

  The answer seemed to be: never; for as soon as my bowels appeared about to explode with the pressure of the thick liquid that had been pumped into it, there was more fiddling with my rear.

  'The enema probe is also hollow and will remain in place within the vibrator,' Ms Stroheim explained. 'It has a control value that a can allow or prevent the flow of liquid from the bowel into the mobile Recycler.'

  Then, my bowels a tightly-stretched balloon, I was pulled off the table and hauled over to a corner of the room previously unnoticed. Here, I was confronted with an elegant pink mahogany dressing table, beneath which was a white backed stool, and, beside the table, a mobile hairdressing table.

  On the dressing table were a collection make-up, perfumes, brushes and a large plastic wig stand over which was stretched a wig of some kind that was currently covered by a white silk sheet. I stared at this latest manifestation of my terrible fate and felt a sickening sense of inescapable doom wash over me, followed by a cool stream of absolute terror.

  Attached to the dressing table was a large, oval, wood framed mirror, and although I was not at first made to sit on the stool, I was able to see a strange, snow white form, just a torso really, but enough to indicate the true extent of my terrible transformation.

  My stomach churned and the huge amount of liquid in my gut pressed against the probe. Every inch of my being wished to evacuate this grim material from my body, yet, thanks to the perverse imagination of my captors, release was, in so many ways, impossible.

  I was held upright by the two younger women and was aware of my stepmother and Ms Stroheim standing very close by
.

  'We will start with the body shaper.'

  As the harsh voice of Ms Stroheim rang in my head, the blonde took a firmer grip of me and the redhead, obeying Ms Stroheim's instruction, tottered on her cruel stiletto heels to what looked like a secret doorway in the wall. At first sight merely a slight rectangular outline drawn on the wall, the door was quickly revealed to be an entrance to a large walk in closet. And it was from this dark room that the beautiful, buxom young woman extracted "the body shaper".

  She held it before me with a smile of pure sadistic glee. I found myself staring at what appeared to be a pink rubber basque, a device designed to cover the male torso and make it female, a trick accomplished by ingenious and disturbing padding.

  Fitted to the chest area were two large bra cups filled with very impressive and convincing padding. The waist area seemed fearfully tight and there was more padding at the hips and backside. There seemed to be two button sealed flaps, one at the front and one at the year, both positioned towards the base of the torso. Then there was the transparent rubber tubing; one thick length that ran around the slender waist, and another thinner length that ran from the waist tube up the front of the shaper and between the bra cups.

  'Each bra cup is a sealed rubber chamber filled with silicon. This produces a highly convincing effect in terms of both weight and presentation. It also prepares the sissy for her own breasts.'

  My eyes widened at the reference to my "own breasts". My worst fears were quickly realised when my mother asked "when does the breast augmentation surgery begin?'

  Ms Stroheim smiled and nodded. 'Your enthusiasm is understandable. There is nothing that more potently expresses the sissy maid's complete subjugation to femininity than her bosom. However, we have to be careful. By the end of the initial training period, the first round of hormone treatments will be completed and the nascent breast structure established. The first surgical intervention will take place within the following two months. Full breast enhancement will be completed within 6 months.'

  As my mind reeled with the true nature of my transformation, as I began to realise the appalling fact of my mother's intentions for me, the blonde suddenly stepped forward and began, to my renewed horror, to work something over my rubber-sealed sex.

  'The head of the restrainer is made up of a number of micro-filters that allow the normal passage of urine. This also allows a full interface with the recycler tubes.'

  I looked down at my sex and watched, devastated, crushed and helplessly aroused, as what appeared to be a further rubber restraining device was attached. This version of the cruel tool of suppression was slightly different, however; for fitted to its front end was another length of clear rubber tubing.

  This was left dangling off the end of my sex as the blonde then disappeared behind my back and began fiddling with the device Ms Stroheim had referred to as the "enema probe".

  'The recycler glove and probe extension allow direct connections to the body shaper tubing and establish the internal transmission network for the recycler.'

  As the grey-eyed mistress explained a device still beyond my already solely tested imagination, the redhead drew the body shaper up before me. As she held it a few inches from my tormented, sissified form, the blonde carefully unbuttoned the two flaps. She then grabbed me firmly beneath the arm pits and the redhead knelt down. The blonde then began to draw the body shaper over my feet and then up my white marble legs. Still considerably weakened by the injection, still firmly silenced by the fat sponge gag, my only protest was a further trickle of helplessly girlish tears.

  With care and determination, the redhead hauled the body shaper up legs and over my waist. Then it was rolled up my torso and pulled firmly into final place over my chest.

  Almost immediately, I was aware of its tightness, of the way it seemed to grip every inch of my body in a vice of strong, merciless rubber. But especially my waist: the air was forced from my lungs and out through the sponge gag.

  'The waist section is designed from a slightly different mixture of latex rubber,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'It is designed to contract when heated in a way very similar to the restrainer. This produces the effect of a very powerful corset and enforces very effectively a core principle of sissification: permanent body discipline by the controlling female hand; a principle taken to its most extreme and beautiful point by the Recycler.'

  As well as the terrible pressure on my waist, there was the highly disturbing impact of the silicon breasts. I felt my weakened body pulled painfully forward and the blonde had to double her efforts to ensure that I remained upright. I felt her large, hopefully natural breasts press into my back and her powerful rose perfume tickle my snow white nostrils. Her sheer nylon sheathed and perfectly shaped legs brushed against the highly sensitised and silky skin of my thighs and I moaned with helpless and soul destroying pleasure.

  Then the redhead was fiddling with the buttoned flap at the front of the body shaper. I looked down in horror as the flap was pulled back and my sex popped out.

  Now I could clearly see that the head of the second sheath had another clear plastic tube attached to it. The redhead took the tube in her left hand and then rather unceremoniously shoved my rubberised sex back into the shaper. She then closed the flap in such a way that the tube was able to be pulled through a small gap at the top of the flap by the button and then connected to a small plug in the broader tube fixed to the tight waist of the body shaper. She then quickly slipped behind me and, from the fiddling that following, I assumed she pulled a similar tube attached to the enema probe through the rear flap and attached it to a similar plug in the rear section of the waist tube.

  As my mind struggled to make sense of this peculiar and very sinister plumbing, I began to feel a certain amount of strength return to my muscles. Suddenly, I was very much aware of the width of the vibrator lodged deep in my anus. A terrible sense of severe and uncomfortable stretching inspired a moan of pain and a helplessly feminine wiggle of discomfort. At the same time, a powerful rose scent began to emanate from my body.

  'The relaxant is wearing off,' Ms Stroheim said. 'And he is beginning to sweat."

  My mother seemed slightly perplexed. 'Sweat?'

  'The body paint is designed to mix with body sweat and convert it into a strong, feminine perfume. The molecular structure of the paint allows the liquid sweat to be evaporated and converted into a rose scent.'

  The destruction of my masculinity was progressing at a rapid rate. My body was being consumed by a total and inescapable feminisation. I was losing all control of my most intimate physical processes. My enslavement was terrible and absolute.

  'Move him to the stool.'

  The blonde released me and I was pushed forward. I found that there was now a renewed strength in my legs and I tottered wearily towards the dressing table, my stride widened by the pressure of the vibrator, a pressure I was finding increasingly pleasant!

  And it was then that I had my greatest shock. For as the blonde forced me to sit on the stool, I found myself confronting a truly bizarre and humiliating sight: my own reflection. The large oval mirror revealed a strange, half-formed mannequin, a mutant show room dummy. I moaned with despair and burst into tears. As the tears trickled down my shiny, snow white face, the women mocked me with a terrible cruelty, their laughter drowning out my own well-gagged cries with a simple, brutal power.

  My head appeared a large white egg. My mouth, with its disturbing, white lips stretched wide by the pink sponge gag, a horrid wound, a break in the fragile surface exposing a sickly internal substance. The only human aspect of this grim façade were my eyes, my large, always girlish, crystal blue eyes, eyes filled with terror and tears, eyes betraying my utter despair, yet also a deeply perverse and irresistible sexual thrill.

  Then there was my body. In the mirror only my neck and arms, so perfectly white, were fully visible. But then there was the body shaper and its strange, intensely feminine curves, a device designed to give me the form of a woman a
nd which added a strange hint of humanity to my doll-like presence. And then, running around the waist and up toward the chest of the shaper, were the strange, clear tubes.

  'Yes, you do look a little odd,' Ms Stroheim whispered, inspiring further laughter. 'But don't worry, babikins: in a little while you'll be the image of sissy perfection.'

  My bowels, still demanding release, gurgled angrily in a seeming response. As I had been pushed into the sitting position, the vibrator had slipped even deeper inside of me, and as I struggled to come to terms with my surreal reflection, I fought to resist the waves of guilty pleasure its presence was increasingly inspiring.

  The next stage of my transformation began almost immediately. The redhead took a large, black plastic lipstick from the table and knelt down in front of me, her smile as wide and cruel as ever.

  'The lipstick is impregnated with the same dye as the body paint,' Ms Stroheim continued to explain to my fascinated and aroused stepmother. 'Once applied, it will be virtually irremovable.'

  The redhead held my chin with one hand and then very carefully ran the cherry flavoured, pink tip of the stick across my upper lip. Our eyes met and I quivered at the look of merciless sadistic intent. I then knew the deep, dark pleasure my transformation was giving her. In her gaze was a simple, awful fact: to torture and torment me gave her a very powerful sexual thrill.

  Once my lips were fully covered, she returned to the table and took up a large white china pot of pink rouge, its shade matching the lipstick exactly. She then applied with her long, rather beautiful fingers, two large pink circles to each of my alabaster cheeks, changing me from a show room dummy into a Victorian doll minus wig; but then the wig was duly produced.

  The blonde pulled back the silken sheet covering the wig stand with an explosive and teasing gesture that imitated some grotesque official unveiling. The other women recognised this by clapping dramatically and as my eyes rested upon the revealed object, more tears of horror flooded forth! For here was the most stunning and thus appalling symbol of my spectacular sissification: a huge explosion of strawberry blonde ringlets that again brought to mind an elaborately decorated Victorian doll.