The ribbon edges sown into the four corners are brought together and bound tightly by the two maids, creating a strange four-legged handle which is then slipped over each hook. Christina then returns to the far wall and once again presses the small plastic button and suddenly we are being pulled into the air. We squeal into our dummy gags, each of which is now attached to the tube leading to the other’s tightly sheathed sex. As we move slowly upward, it becomes painfully apparent that the space between our buttocks is fully exposed and open to kinky manipulation. The true nature of this manipulation does not become apparent until we are at least five feet in the air. Then the chain stops moving upward and we hover helplessly, moans of genuine fear fighting their way past the fat dummy gags.
The maids then set about arranging the giant plastic cocks so that they are directly beneath our swaying forms.
And it is at this point that Ms Blakemore rises from the sofa.
‘We thought you’d like to see a little film Pansy has been spending her weekends working on with Christina, Helen and the masters,’ she whispers, her voice thick with alcohol and desire. ‘I think it is, by a long way, our finest work. Clips are already being uploaded onto the website, and the DVD will be available from the beginning of next month. Of course, it doesn’t seem fair to make you watch them having all the sissy fun, so we’ve arranged a very special viewing experience to enable full empathy and maximum arousal.’
To our horror, we are then lowered very slowly towards the cocks, which almost immediately start buzzing and vibrating furiously. We squeal helplessly into the gags. The women clap and laugh as we wiggle uselessly in the fiendish sacks, our bottoms performing a helpless ballet of terror. The pressure on our backsides is considerable and forces the cheeks wide apart, thus presenting an exposed and deeply vulnerable orifice ripe for the kinky attentions of the cocks.
I feel the damp tip of the large, long and intricately ribbed plastic cock press against my arse and squeal angrily into the fat dummy gag. The women’s laughter increases in wicked volume and the cock begins to slip inevitably between my pert sissy buttocks. Beside me, poor Annette is subjected to the same dark, awful and deeply erotic suffering.
Within a few minutes, we are effectively impaled on the cocks. The heads and general widths are much thicker than anything we have previously experienced. It is the pressure of our body weight that ensures that the cocks work their way deep inside us, bringing tears of exquisite agony to our pretty, so very carefully made-up sissy faces.
Yet this is only the beginning of the afternoon of torments, for as we wiggle on the end of the cocks, the two litres of sweet thick milk begin to work their way through our intestines.
As the Nursery darkens, a hidden camera beam cuts through the darkness to strike the far wall of the Nursery. As the first seconds of the latest SMC masterpiece are projected before our helpless sex-tormented wide sissy eyes, I become aware of the urge to urinate, an urge to which I am made far more susceptible by the torments of the vibrator. Also, this same vibrator is driving me quite mad with arousal and, given that my sex is unrestrained, I am now facing the urge both to come and to piss. Thanks to the darkness, I am unable to see what is happening to poor Annette, but I can well imagine, and soon, very soon, I know she will flood the tube running from her sex to my mouth, just as I will do exactly the same into the tube connected to her fat inescapable dummy gag.
As I feel my bladder finally give way, my eyes are drawn to the film flashing before my tortured eyes. I surrender with a moan of utter despair and accept the inevitable. And as I relax, three words, in large white letters, flash onto the wall before my tormented tightly packaged body: Visions of the Future.
4
Visions of the Future
PETAL WAS HAPPY to be home. It had been very sad to say goodbye to Mistress Dee at the station, but they would be apart for only a week, and it had been agreed that Daphne would stay with her to help around the house and make sure she didn’t get too lonely. Yes, the thought of gorgeous sexy Daphne was foremost in her sissy mind as she gave the taxi driver a credit token and climbed the steps of the elegant London town house that was now Mistress Dee’s home.
As she wiggle-minced up the steps, the taxi driver, a stern-faced mistress from the Eastern sector, unleashed a loud teasing vixen whistle and the pretty sissy blushed with pride and embarrassment. Her black rubber Senso micro-mini, a classic Shelly design from SMC (of course), barely covered her hips, never mind her Senso black nylon-sheathed thighs and, as she carefully tottered up the steps on five-inch high-heeled, black leather court shoes, her heavily befrilled panties were open to the eyes of all women as her shapely backside wiggled helplessly. Last year she had won the British regional final of the Western Sector Sissy Beauty Pageant and, as a consequence, was a local celebrity. And just to take one look at this beautiful example of first generation sissification was to see why.
Petal was just over five feet ten inches tall, a strikingly tall blonde with unsettling ice-blue eyes, designed in the large helplessly wide look now so very fashionable with the cosmetic centres. Her heart-shaped face, perfectly proportioned by nature – with a little help from Mistress Doctor Felicity (Mistress Dee’s personal cosmetician) – was a striking justification of the mass sissification programme undertaken by the Femocracy in its first year of office. Petal had only been sixteen then, two years past the minimum age for changing, and her mother had been only too happy to have her packed off to one of the new training academies run by SMC Corp. And thanks to her then son’s collection of Senso male undies, so was he.
Due to her very early conditioning, Petal’s transformation had been a relatively simple process. There had been no late night visit from a Fempol squad; no removal to a Trans Camp tightly gagged with mummy’s panties and sealed in an immobilisation suit. No, Petal, already overcome by the hormonal stimulations of Senso, was happy to be enrolled in the regional SMC academy. Indeed, she qualified as a full housemaid within three months, top of her class, and was returned to her mother’s home to spend twelve wonderful months in a specially organised domestic placement. At the end of this delightful introduction to the joys of submissive femininity, she was placed on the register of Sissy Maids and quickly snapped up by Mistress Dee at one of the regional auctions, fetching the highest price of her cohort and ensuring that her mother was provided with a regular income for the rest of her life.
Mistress Dee, a beautiful brunette in her late forties, had been involved in the Bigger Picture since the very beginning. Now a senior member of the Western Sector governing council, she was a close friend of a number of members of the Global Assembly and knew the Grand Mistress personally. To be the property of such a distinguished mistress was truly a great honour, and Petal thanked the Goddess each day for her good fortune.
Mistress Dee had been summoned to Sados with less than forty-eight hours notice. Of course Petal was bitterly disappointed that she would not be able to serve her mistress for a whole week, but the thought of being with Daphne was more than enough to raise her spirits and her tightly restrained and constantly stiff sex.
As she turned the key in the front door to Mistress Dee’s luxurious town house, Petal turned towards the taxi and waved a black silk-gloved hand sweetly. The driver looked at her with a fierce cruel desire and she felt a quiver of helplessly masochistic excitement rush across her gorgeous sissy form.
She knew she was beautiful, she knew she was very special. She was wearing a short black velvet jacket with lace-befrilled and puffed sleeves and the expensive intricately patterned black silk gloves that Mistress Dee had bought as a goodbye treat. The black rubber mini skirt was a teasing confection whose soul purpose was to reveal her long perfectly formed legs, which were sheathed in the sheerest black Senso nylon (tights by Shelly, SMC). As were her shoes: elegant, erotic, black patent leather court shoes, with tapered razor-sharp heels leading to the tiniest of diamond-plated tips.
Around her slender pale neck she wore a choker of wh
ite pearls, a tight lavish necklace that covered the polo neck of her ultra-tight second-skin black nylon sweater, whose sole function was to display her stunning, forty-inch chest to maximum effect, an effect somewhat dampened by the lovely black pearl-buttoned jacket. But with her tiny tightly corseted waist, the jacket could not hide the erotic perfection of her figure, a fact the driver’s whistle acknowledged in a raw, sexually explicit manner.
Yes, with her hair in a tight bun secured by a diamond clasp formed in the shape of the black rose, her lips painted a deep bloody red, and a rose-shaped black beauty spot resting just a few millimetres from these full helplessly teasing lips, Petal was the purest paradigm of the New Sissy.
She opened the door and stepped into the long ground floor corridor of Mistress Dee’s marvellous Georgian house, a house that had been her home for nearly ten years.
As she slipped out of her beautiful velvet jacket and hung it up, she thought of the week ahead and the pleasures that she and Daphne would experience.
Daphne was Mistress Dee’s First Maid, essentially the senior sissy servant and housekeeper. She was at least five years older than Petal but, thanks to the cosmeticians, looked barely twenty-one. Indeed, all sissies were subject to two yearly body maintenance reviews (or BMRs), and, as the Femocracy had concentrated a huge chunk of its global science budget on feminisation technologies, the cosmetic surgery that underpinned sissification had progressed dramatically. Sissfication of the male begins in earnest at sixteen. As the full tidal wave of late puberty strikes, the male youth is inducted into the local SMC training academy. Using techniques honed over the ten years of the Femocracy and the five years of the Transition, the male is quickly changed into a simpering ultra-feminine slave girl. Mental and physical conditioning, cosmetic surgery and the wondrous impact of Senso on a body already overwhelmed by violent hormonal change ensure a swift transformation. Also, the first sixteen years are spent in a state of trainee femininity carefully prescribed by the Protocol of Change, the formal guidance of the Femocracy on the feminisation of the male. Thus, by sixteen, ‘the age of enlightenment’, all males are ready to begin their natural role as obedient, highly trained maid servants to the Great Womankind.
And as the sissy slaves progress through their beloved silken slavery, the transformations continue. Determined by fashion and history, each sissy is subject to ‘design modification’ on a regular basis. And thanks to the cosmeticians, the maintenance of the sissy in an almost pristine state of physical perfection can be guaranteed well into the forties. Indeed, even the decline of the core physical abilities of the human determined by the aging process has been slowed. All sissies are required by law to retire at fifty, yet even at this age they still closely resemble the helplessly beautiful slave objects they were in their early twenties. However, without the constant monitoring and updating of the BMRs, they would soon deteriorate, and the Ecstasy, which must follow within a few days of formal retirement, is seen by the Femocracy as the most humane solution to the consequences of the sissy’s removal from the care and attentions of the cosmeticians.
As Petal climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Daphne, she pondered, not for the first time, the mystery of the Ecstasy. She remembered visiting a friend of Mistress Dee, Mistress Lovinia. That very afternoon, the gorgeous black-eyed Eastern Sector mistress was replacing her senior housemaid and there had been a spectacular sissy ball in honour of her fifteen years of service.
‘She’s been with me since the Transition,’ Mistress Lovinia had said, tears in her golden eyes as poor Betina was prepared for the journey to the Ecstasy Chambers. ‘In the Phallocracy, we were husband and wife. We’ve been together over twenty years. I turned him myself, helped by Senso, of course. And he came into the fold willingly.’
The Ecstasy Nurses were sealing the still very beautiful sissy into the tight Senso pink rubber travel stocking. Betina’s mouth was filled with a pair of her mistress’s freshly soiled panties and her full recently restyled lips were fastened shut with pink sissy tape. Her very large breasts strained fearfully against the tight rubber stocking and Petal felt her sex strain teasingly against her own tight unyielding restrainer.
Eventually, the head nurse, an Amazonian negress in the terribly erotic rubber uniform of the Ecstasy Nurses, began to pull the Senso pink rubber eyeless hood down over Betina’s pretty head. The poor sissy squealed desperately, her final goodbye to her gorgeous, stern but always caring mistress.
Her wide pleading eyes disappeared beneath the soft rubber mask and a small tear dropped onto Mistress Lovinia’s alabaster cheek.
They had wheeled Betina to the ambulance and Petal had spent the afternoon giving the two Mistresses a variety of intricate oral pleasurings. As her expert tongue had tickled their shaven clits (all the fashion in 2025) and worked deep into their warm pungent backsides, she had imagined the testing and ultimate pleasuring of the Ecstasy. She knew that poor Betina would never see the light of day again; that she would be kept in the travel stocking all the way to the Ecstasy Chambers on the outskirts of Femdon, a vast complex of underground vaults that contained the rubberised bodies of over five thousand terminated sissies. Here, she would be interned in a small tubular vault. Patches fixed to the front and rear crotch sections of the stocking would be removed. A large ribbed rubber vibrator would be inserted into her well-stretched arse. Her restrainer would be removed and a lighter Senso rubber sheath slipped over its furious tumescence. Attached to the sheath would be a long rubber tube disappearing into the ceiling of the vault. Electrodes would be attached to her nipples and to her testicles. Then the vault would be sealed.
Deep beneath the earth, unable to move an inch, she would then be teased by carefully modulated electronic vibrations, driven to the edge of madness by a constant and intense process of excitation until, after maybe two or three days, her heart would finally gave out. Her final gasp would be into the scented panties of her beloved mistress at the point of an umpteenth orgasm. Her final petit mort would be death itself. Then the tube would be removed and the vault sealed once again. In a few seconds, her body would be turned to ash by ultra-high-powered incineration (UHPI).
Yet no sissy saw this as a terrible thing. All were trained from the very first day of their lives to submit to the will of womankind. A sissy was nothing but the property of her mistress, and, by implication, all women. To live was to experience a gift of the Femocracy. To die was merely another gift. At the heart of their absolute submission was the core of all masochism: the presence of an eroticised termination of life, an ecstatic surrender to death.
Now Petal opens the door to her bedroom and knows she is nothing but the sissy creation of her mistress. This thought is a constant arousing truth for the millions of sissies who service the Femocracy.
She expects to find Daphne in the room, Daphne attired in some suitably erotic outfit; Daphne presenting the image of teasing ultra-femininity; Daphne, her long-time sissy lover, prepared for an evening of wondrous she-male sex. Instead, she finds Daphne attired for something quite different.
Daphne is lying face down on the bed. Yet this is no erotic repose, because she has been placed in tight and stringent bondage. The beautiful brunette sissy, her design as perfect as the day she left the SMC academy, is bound and gagged and squealing helplessly into a fat gag held in place by a very long and thick strip of white sissy tape. Dressed in a very tight black nylon sweater, a short leather skirt, sheer black tights (all Senso by Shelly, SMC), her lovely feet encased in spike-heeled court shoes of gleaming black patent leather, she has been bound in a way that betrays an experienced Dom Male. Her arms are forced behind her back and very tightly bound together at the upper arms, elbows and wrists with white rubber-coated cording. Her long shapely legs, so spectacular in the fetishistic Senso black nylon, are also intricately tied with white cording: at the thighs, above and below the knees and at the ankles. And tied to the cording binding her ankles is another length of cording, and it is this that has been us
ed to force her body into a dreadfully severe and obviously very painful hogtie, the cording pulling her ankles down so far towards her wrists that the heels of the her ultra-sexy shoes are pressed deep into her bottom and her fingers are touching the diamond studded tips of the shoes.
Petal looks at this appallingly kinky vision, this fiendish restriction, and knows that she has been misled. Mistress Dee had promised Petal and Daphne a special week together. Both had thought they would be allowed to explore the delights of each other’s sissy forms at a level of detail their servitude rarely allowed. Instead, they were to be placed in the hands of a Dom Male Training Squad.
‘Welcome home, Petal. We expected you sooner. Have you been playing naughty games with yourself?’
She recognises the voice and turns to discover Mistress Saturlaine, Mistress Dee’s closest friend and long-term lover, a woman the delicate pretty sissy had very good cause to fear.
She is dressed in a spectacular dress of black silk with a tight black leather bodice. The skirt of the dress is wide and beneath it flows a sea of fine black net petticoating. Her long muscular legs, sheathed in black silk hose, slide out of the petticoating down to knee length leather boots with fierce five-inch heels. Around her slender pale-rose neck is a band of black pearls, and her normally long jet-black hair is fixed in a strict bun held in place with a diamond dagger-shaped clasp. Her eyes are the darkest brown, almost black, and they glow with the sadistic intent of a senior Dom Mistress. Her bloody lips curl into a cruel heartless smile and poor Petal knows she will soon be joining her tethered lover on the bed.
Silken Servitude Page 8