Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  Ms Blakemore proceeded to remove the body suit and hood. I moaned my fear and she smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Shelly – this isn’t a punishment. This little toy is designed to bring pleasure and calm to the sex-addled sissy mind. It’s essentially a milking device, to help you relax and prepare for the forthcoming rigours of your training.’

  I looked up at her with helplessly trusting eyes and her gorgeous teasing smile widened.

  She then made me pull the body suit up my silken sissy form. Almost immediately, I realised this was Senso rubber and I squirmed with delight as it caressed my body.

  It soon became apparent that the suit was a particularly odd and cunning creation. For a start, whereas initially it looked very much like there were two legs, there was in fact only one leg which enveloped and squeezed together my own legs as I pulled it upwards. What appeared to be the second leg was in fact a single arm glove positioned at the rear of the suit. As I pulled the suit up over my torso, Ms Blakemore stepped forward and helped me stretch my arms behind my back so that they could be slipped into the glove, thus squeezing them tightly and rather painfully together. Unseen at the time was a small hook at the tip of the arm glove which was then attached to an eyelet fixed to the lower back section of the suit. This ensured that my arms were stretched tight and totally immobilised.

  It was only as the suit was secured in this way that I noticed the strange lace-lined holes positioned over the crotch section and the area directly over the cleft between my pert girlish buttocks. To my astonishment, Ms Blakemore then proceeded to slip a long elegant hand into the hole over my sex and gently extract my hard, tortured and still unrestrained sex. I squealed with delight and terror and she laughed teasingly.

  ‘There, the jack is well and truly out of the box.’

  So there I was: cocooned in electrifying Senso rubber, my sex exposed and furious, facing a very strange and ultra-kinky chamber of erotic torment.

  Then she lifted me up. Taking me easily in her broad powerful arms, she lifted me from the soft bedroom floor and into the sinister chamber, carefully positioning me so that my back was resting against the strapping fixed to the wall and I was facing directly outwards towards her divine form.

  Then she took up the sinister eyeless hood and I fought a deep moan of very genuine fear.

  She stepped inside the chamber and pulled open the hood. I looked at her with absolute terror and she smiled reassuringly.

  ‘You’ll be blind, deaf and dumb, my little beauty, but the heightened pleasure will soon overwhelm any brief fear you may experience.’

  I nodded, helpless, frightened, my cock as hard as diamond-reinforced steel.

  She then stretched the Senso rubber hood over the top of my head and slowly pulled it down my face. The last image I saw that evening was of her shadow-covered and very beautiful face, her red lips curved into a gentle loving smile and her honey-brown eyes filled with cruel amusement. Then I was plunged into utter blackness as the hood was pulled down the rest of my face and secured carefully around my neck. To my surprise, my mouth was exposed: there appeared to be a circular hole in the hood to allow the mouth to remain uncovered. There also appeared to be tiny air holes positioned around my nostrils, as I could breathe freely.

  I moaned into the darkness and then felt Ms Blakemore begin to secure me to the wall using the thick leather straps. As the straps that ran across my chest and stomach were secured, I felt the exposed space between my buttocks push hard against the long ribbed vibrator. The well-stretched space between my buttocks opened easily and soon the long ribbed intruder was working its way into my widening anus. My moans increased as I was so intimately and erotically impaled. Eventually, all the strapping was tightly secured and I was held firm both by the straps and by the sensual embrace of the vibrator.

  As I squirmed helplessly on the virbrator, I felt a looser elasticated strapping being pulled over my rubber hooded head. This I knew was the strange mask, removed from its hook on the wall and now being lowered into position over my briefly exposed mouth. I felt soft rubber being pressed against my mouth and opened it instinctively. The ball gag section of the mask was then pushed deep inside and the mask covered my stopped mouth.

  A few seconds later I felt Ms Blakemore’s hands once again manipulating my long-tormented sex. I screamed helplessly into the gag mask and then felt the sheath, connected to the gag mask by the clear tubing, slide carefully over my aching desperate cock.

  I was utterly and beautifully unable to resist. I squealed and tossed my head. I bit deep into the soft rubber of the fat gag. This was unbearable torment, and I loved every second of it. But this was only the beginning.

  Once the sheath had been slid over my cock and balls, I found myself standing in utter darkness and a deep harsh silence punctuated only by the rapid beating of my sissy heart. Then it began: a slow light vibration in my backside. The vibrator had been activated. I squealed with pleasure as the vibrations increased in intensity. Then, to my added astonishment, something quite wonderful occurred: a strange massaging throb began to pass through the sheath tightly imprisoning my cock. What was even more wonderful was that the sheath was in no way a restrainer. Therefore, in a few beautiful seconds I was sure to ejaculate uncontrollably.

  Yet even this incredible pleasure was not the end, for at the same time as the sheath, via the strange vein-like wires I had noticed, began to gently masturbate me, a set of lovely electrical tickles were passing across my already highly sensitive nipples. The body glove was making love to me.

  I squealed and wiggled and awaited the inevitable with a terrible aching need. Then I felt the edge of the orgasm, like the top of a huge wave, begin to break open into an explosion of unbearably bright stars, a painful and at the same time utterly pleasurable eruption of white hot light that left me screaming into the strange, very soft, but utterly effective gag.

  The cum exploded out of my cock like champagne from a suddenly unstopped bottle. It flooded into the tube that ran up the suit and directly into the gag. And as my cock emptied, I felt a strange, very light rumbling within my mouth. Something had activated within the gag. And within seconds, I found out what and why. Yes, very quickly, something wet, sticky and salty began to seep through hidden pores in the gag and into my mouth, a liquid whose taste I now knew very well: semen! Yet not just semen – my own semen!

  The initial response to this awful realisation was one of utter horror. I struggled uselessly, I cried, I screamed out for release. Yet even as I was doing this, my deflating sex was being re-energised by the renewed vibrations of the sheath and the increasingly powerful ministrations of the wicked vibrator. And within less than a minute, I was stiffened and facing the truly kinky and sinister nature of this dark chamber and Ms Blakemore’s ‘desiring machine’. Here I was to be milked and then fed on my own milk. Here I was to be drained and filled. Here, the helplessly physical addiction to submission and bondage that had been so expertly created by an army of gorgeous determined and very powerful women, was to be tested to a truly explosive limit.

  And for how long? At the time, I had no idea. I had no idea that for the next twelve hours or so I was to be subjected to the most extreme and bizarre test of my forced and welcomed feminisation; a test that would leave me utterly shattered, unsure of my own identity, brain- and body-washed. A test so severe, that I would be allowed to sleep in Ms Blakemore’s quarters for a whole day to recover. A test that would destroy any final vestiges of resistance or doubt and ensure my true and utter commitment to my permanent sissy slavery and the ambitious aims of the Bigger Picture.

  I stroke Pansy’s sex back to life and remember the physical challenge of that long night. I pull myself up onto the bed and she carefully positions me so that my pert sissy bottom is facing her body. She pulls my pretty pink panties down my delicately stockinged legs and I whispers words of helpless undying love. I feel her renewed sex press against my buttocks and I welcome her, widening my legs, exposing myse
lf, giving myself. As she slips into me, I remember the wondrous testing of that night and the tests that lie ahead and a smile of absolute acceptance covers my pretty, sissy face.

  3

  A Philosophy of Desire

  IMAGES OF MS Blakemore and her beautiful tortures continue to fill my mind as Pansy penetrates me. I gasp and feel a familiar physical splitting. Pansy’s cock stretches me to the limit and the sensation of rupture deep within my sensitised form is the ultimate feeling of a helpless submission to my glorious sissy fate. As she builds a suitably arousing pumping rhythm, I press my backside against her and beg her to push harder and faster. She cries her own wild pleasure and I push my face deep into the silken sheets of our chaotic shared bed.

  Since the incredible adventure of the desiring machine, Ms Blakemore has continued to train me in the arts of total submission and in the erotic ways of the Bigger Picture. Seeing me as her latest work of sissy art, I have been subjected to further exciting moments of body decoration: my nipples have been pierced and fitted with small silver rings, a diamond stud has been attached to a further piercing in my left nostril, a slightly larger pink ruby stud has been fitted in my navel, and, most bizarrely, and erotically, a large heavier golden ring has been fitted to a piercing made to the strip of tender flesh at the base of my scrotum.

  Then there has been the further body painting. Strange tendril-like tattoos of hot pink have been added to my ankles, and two roses, one red and one pink, have been printed onto my buttocks. Now, I wear long pointed pink false fingernails and my toenails are painted in exactly the same shade of this particularly sissy colour. A black beauty spot adorns my left lower cheek.

  Yes, I am Ms Blakemore’s pretty work of sissy art.

  At the same time, I have continued to work up various ideas for new sissy attire in her chambers, a tense deeply interesting prelude to sexual submission and an evening losing myself entirely in the dark joys of the desiring machine. And then there have been the wonderful Sunday sessions in the Nursery.

  On Sundays, I see little if anything of Pansy. This is because on Sundays Pansy entertains Master Taylor and Mistress Anne. What happens during these all-day servicings remains deeply secret. Pansy appears both highly excited and deeply disturbed by them. She always returns in a state of physical exhaustion, her eyes wide with something approaching shock. Yet, despite this evidence of trauma, there is always the terrible proof of her own helpless and deeply masochistic arousal: her savage erection and the moans of a heightened sexual torment as we are sealed in the sexy sleep-sacks and she wiggles desperately towards my own tormented tethered form during the night.

  While poor Pansy is led off by Annette to her Sunday testing, I find myself returned to the kinky delights of the Nursery with my darling mistress, Ms Amelia Blakemore. And this is, without a doubt, the highlight of my sissy week.

  As Pansy torments me so wonderfully, I remember last Sunday and a dark deeply satisfied yet also slightly troubled smile ripples across my glistening pink lips.

  I am brought to this marvellous chamber of delights very early. The sense of time in the SMC academy is always only an estimate: there are no clocks in the underground training quarters, and the only real indication of time is provided when we are allowed into the main house, where there are windows that indicate approximate light and dark. Yet, we are always hauled from our bound sissy slumber by clearly very tired maids, and our own sense of physical being is cut through with a strange feeling of insufficiency. Normally, I expect to sleep at least seven hours. We are in bed by a time I assume to be just before midnight and up by an hour close to 7.00 a.m. On Sundays, however, I would say it is at least an hour earlier.

  We are dressed in two very different but equally splendid outfits. Normally Annette and Kate are our guides in this erotic and very deliberate dressing. Interestingly, we are dressed separately, one at a time, one viewing the preparation of the other. For some reason, Pansy is always dressed first, and I am left on the bed tightly secured in my teasing sleep-sack, the highly aroused tightly bound and gagged witness to a strange preparation.

  Pansy looks forward to her Sunday sessions with a dreadful trepidation. During the night, I can feel her pretty sissy form quake through the tight deceptively slender material of the sleep-sack, a trembling whose vibrations run at the very similar frequencies of fear and desire. She whimpers into her fat panty gag (which, on Saturday nights, is always certain to belong to Mistress Anne) and presses her body into mine. Virtually immobilised by my own tight night restraints, I can only moan sympathetically and seek the relief of a sex-tormented sleep.

  And as I watch her preparation for the tests invented by Mistress Anne and the handsome cruel Taylor, I begin to get a sense of the causes of her trepidation. She is stripped completely naked and her restrainer and phallic plug are removed. There is much moaning and struggling as these teasing wicked companions are extracted from her beautiful silken body. Then she is naked, strikingly exposed, with the carefully toned but intensely feminised body of a sissy athlete. I look at her appallingly hard sex, so strange and yet so familiar in its denuded glory, the cock of a man on the body of a slender silky-smooth sissy.

  Her beautiful sex-streaked eyes behold her preparation with a painful arousal. Next Kathy removes a new and very special restrainer from a pocket in her silk pinafore and Pansy’s gorgeous eyes widen with the helpless terror of a beautiful damsel in distress. For this restrainer is made from a harder blood-red rubber and lined with hundreds of very tiny pins. As the beautiful female maid, her own eyes filled with a sadistic, even vengeful pleasure, stretches this terrible tormenting device over Pansy’s sex, the poor she-male moans and whimpers.

  ‘No, please. Don’t. Ohhhh …’

  But even as this fiendish restrainer is being stretched over hot hard sex meat, the dainty sexy sissy’s pleas for mercy are transmutating into gasps of deep dark masochistic pleasure. The blue of her perfect eyes seems to be surrounded by a ring of sex flame, and her body quivers with the indescribable bliss that floats between pain and pleasure.

  Any further erotic outbursts are silenced by the introduction of a very large, also blood-red rubber ball gag attached to two thick white leather straps. Poor Pansy’s soft pink-painted lips are forced apart with cruel indifference by Kathy and then the ball is forced deep into her mouth by Annette. The gag is so big, the poor sissy’s jaw appears stretched to breaking point and her cheeks bulge furiously. Yet even as she is struggling with this terrible torment, the two wickedly imaginative maids are considering the next tortuous development in the ultra-kinky Sunday morning dressing.

  After the gag comes a pair of Senso red rubber panties. Very thin and terribly tight, they are pulled up Pansy’s long shapely legs and then literally snapped into place over her tormented painfully imprisoned sex. She squeals as the whip crack of the material striking her tender sex flesh fills the room and tears of pain, humiliation and a terrible inescapable hunger pour from her eyes, the outline of her tormented deeply agitated cock clearly visible through the bulging film of arousing Senso.

  After the panties come matching Senso rubber stockings, very long and very beautiful, that soon cover each leg from her pretty painted toes up to the very edge of the panties. A black Senso rubber corset is then pulled around her slender sissy waist and pulled very very tight. Her eyes bulge as this wicked pressure is applied to her girlish frame, and a darker shade of red covers her taughtly stretched cheeks.

  Over the corset goes a tight red rubber mini dress, a creation of pure fetishistic brilliance, with a very high white lace-lined neck and long tight sleeves, whose cuffs are also lace trimmed. In the middle of the front of the dress is a black rose, the symbol of the Bigger Picture, an emblem also associated with the double rose logo of SMC (one black and one pink). But it is the single black rose that I have now come to understand as the secret mark of this secret and very serious society of dominant powerful women. The skirt of the dress barely reaches Pansy’s perfectly formed ball
erina thighs. It is also very tight, and this new layer of restrictive rubber Senso adds further distress to my sissy lover’s gorgeous eyes.

  Once the dress is pulled down tightly in position, Kathy takes Pansy’s amazing Sunday footwear from the wardrobe, a birthday gift from Master Taylor. Pansy faces the thigh-high leather boots with a look of renewed excitement and terror. She moans into the mouth-widening gag and awaits her terrible deeply erotic fate.

  The boots are jet black. They have astonishing seven-inch heels that turn the instep into a cliff-like drop towards the floor. The soles of the boots are thick black platforms as long as the heels, and the front of each boot dips strangely, to ensure that poor Pansy’s feet are bent into a very uncomfortable forward arch. These, I have learnt, are hobble boots, and they ensure that their wearer is only ever able to manage the most careful and limited totter.

  A network of black silk laces run from the base of the boots up to the thigh area. Kathy and Annette spend at least ten teasing minutes slowly and very carefully securing the laces as tightly as possible, so that each boot is virtually welded onto each rubber-sheathed leg, leaving poor Pansy even more restricted in the movement of her legs.

  Yet even now the beautiful wide-eyed sissy is not free of torment; for as soon as the boots have been bound to Pansy’s legs, the maids turn their kinky attentions to her rubber-wrapped arms. A matching red Senso leather arm glove is extracted from the wardrobe and within a few minutes, the lovely whimpering she-male beauty has had her arms pulled painfully behind her back and forced into the wicked glove, leaving her with one leather-fused arm, her shoulders pulled painfully together, causing her chest to jut forward uncontrollably and her balance to be made even more precarious. And after the glove comes the hood: of the same blood red as the rest of this kinky costume, made from the slender Senso rubber. Eyeless and mouthless, but with a speckle of breathing holes around the nose area. Poor Pansy squeals with genuine fear as this is quickly slipped over her head by Kathy and then pulled cruelly into place.