Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  ‘Prepare her,’ the startling mistress orders, and then, from the sides of the room, the two Dom Males appear.

  Petal cries out in genuine terror and totters towards the window. But before her slender sissy ankles have managed to mince a foot, she is wrapped tightly in the arms of one of the males.

  The other then steps forward, armed with cording, tape and a fat sponge punishment gag.

  It takes them less than ten minutes to secure Petal on the bed in exactly the same painful terribly strict manner as her sissy friend and lover. She feels as if every bone in her body is a second away from snapping, as if to move even an inch would result in the most appalling physical damage. The sponge gag has been soaked in her Mistress’s sex juice, and this only adds to the furious masochistic pleasure that frames her dark very real fear, a fear inspired by the prospect of Dom training.

  ‘I have managed to convince Dee that you two are far too pampered. You are spoilt little rich sissies and this is impacting on your usefulness. She has grown too fond of you, and the training and management guidance of the Femocracy is being ignored. It is time to get you back on track, my darlings. Time for you to remember the true function of your life: to serve and obey without question.’

  Petal looks up at the two Dom Males, her eyes wide with fear and desire. She moans into the fat gag and knows the next five days are going to be truly testing. Both Doms are tall, broad and muscular. They are classic examples of the genetically engineered and specially trained male dominants who are the physical power behind the Dom Squads, the civil police who oversee the maintenance of the Femocracy in each of its four global regions.

  The Dom Squads’ core task is oversight of the proper training and management of sissies. In the Femocracy there is very little crime, and certainly no violent crime. Control of the sissy population is the Dom Squads’ single duty, and it is a duty they perform with a zealous energy. Led by Grand Mistress Rosanna, Chief Inspector of Sissies for the Western Region, the Western Dom Squads are by far the most feared of the regional squads, and the British Directorate’s Squads, under the leadership of Senior Mistress Saturlaine, are recognised as the most efficient and brutal of the all the Western Squads.

  In the Femocracy, the physical power of masculinity has been eradicated except in one very important regard: the legitimate violence of the state. Even before the Transition, the followers of the Bigger Picture included a significant number of non-sissified men, mostly dominants associated with the global S&M scene. This core group was built upon during the Transition, when a small army of specially trained males were used to protect the leaders of the Bigger Picture from attacks launched by the Phallocracy. Since the Establishment, this army has grown into a world-wide force comprising three groups: the Protectors, the Security Guard and the Domination Squadrons (Dom Squads). The Protectors fight the Phallo-Rebels on the Outskirts, the areas that remain under male control around the Eastern and Northern Sectors. Under the command of the Amazonians, the elite military leadership of the Femocracy, they protect the threatened borders. The Security Guard are the intelligence service, protecting the interiors of the Fem Sectors from the on-going attempts of the P-Rs and their deluded female agents to undermine the supremacy of the Femocracy. And then, of course, there are the infamous Dom Squads.

  Petal feels an electric shudder of masochistic arousal flood over her body as she stares helplessly up at the two Doms. Both wear the striking black uniform that inspires fear and sexual excitement into every sissy heart. The closest to her is dressed in the standard black leather trousers, black leather boots and black shirt. He is well over six feet tall and has the confident bearing of a hardened solider. The sleeves of the shirt have been rolled up to his shoulders, and the spiked rose branch that is the insignia of the Dom Squad has been tattooed to both of his very muscular arms.

  The second is slightly shorter, but with a truly impressive physical design. A hard muscular negro with coal black eyes that burn into poor Petal’s helplessly tethered form with a pitiless intensity. Dressed exactly the same as his white counterpart, cruel desire is obvious in his look, but also in the large terrifying erection that presses against the front of his tight leather trousers.

  ‘Eric can concentrate on Petal. Ernst will work on Daphne.’

  The sissies’ squeals of terror increase in volume as the two Doms reveal their black silk torture sacks. From inside, they take the tools of sissy correction and place them on the floor to ensure that the sissies have a full view of the torments that await them over the next week.

  There are the nine-inch vibrators with wicked layers of sharp metal ribbing; the pin-lined penis restrainers; the jars of long-lasting skin irritant that will be teasingly applied to their cocks and arses; the clamps that will leave their sissy arses and mouths stretched wide and helplessly vulnerable to any intrusion the Doms see fit to make; the eyeless rubber hoods with fitted inflatable penis gags; the dreadful seven-inch high-heeled hobble boots; the electric shock-inducing nipple and testicle clamps; the silver cock collars and leashes; the neck binders; the black leather arm gloves that will force their elbows and shoulders together and leave them screaming into an abyss of immobile sissy agony; the punishment bras, with their pin-lined cups; the black rubber Senso body sacks, that will ensure complete envelopment and restriction; the terrible enema apparatus; a variety of paddles and crops. An apparently endless supply of evil weapons of sissy pacification.

  And the two helpless beautiful buxom sissies know this is just the surface expression of their guaranteed suffering. They will face hours of psychological torment – including prolonged sensory deprivation, appalling humiliation and will destruction. Worst of all, they know the Doms will make them punish each other; that their powerful sissy love will be so terribly tested by torments each will very willingly impose on the other.

  Then, of course, there are the terrible pleasures: the servicing of Mistress Saturlaine and the Doms. They will suck and be fucked; fucked hard and relentlessly. Their heads will spend hours forced deep between the Mistress’s broad powerful black nylon-sheathed thighs, drowning in the generous flow of her sex-logged cunt.

  ‘We will start after dinner with the vibrators and the electrical clamps. Then you can fix the mouth clamps and use them in any way you see fit. I suggest you drink plenty of wine. Then give them a good hard fucking, hood and bag them and hang them up in the closet with the vibrators and clamps running full blast. I also suggest liberal application of the skin irritant on their cocks, arses and tits.’

  The Doms nod, their eyes glazed over with sadistic desire. The poor sissies squeal helplessly, working their slender ankles furiously against the tight cording, wiggling their pretty, perfectly formed backsides in the tight rubber skirts; sissy damsels in a very real distress whose suffering is only just beginning.

  As am I gently fucked by Pansy, I recall the strange torment of that viewing; the bizarre nature of the way I was forced to watch Visions of the Future, and the incredible impact this masterpiece of erotic film making had upon me.

  Petal was played by Pansy, a marvellously natural and nuanced performance; and Daphne was played by Christina – already a proven and highly skilled actress. Mistress Helen was brilliant as Saturlaine, and Mistress Donna was brief but superb as Mistress Dee. Yet the stars of the show, after the sissies, were undoubtedly Bentley and Taylor – the two striking masters, the paradoxical guardians of the female future that was to be the perfect realisation of the Bigger Picture, a profound, disturbing and deeply erotic philosophy of desire.

  The vision itself had been worked out at great expense. A view of the world twenty years hence, the spectacular realm of the Femocracy. However, it was the design of the clothing that completely astonished me. Even as I endured the terrible bondage ordeal of the hoisted sack, as the vibrator buzzed so terribly deep inside me, as the humiliation of the tubes became so dreadfully apparent, my eyes were wide with sissy need and an aroused fascination as I beheld my very own fantasies br
ought to cinematic life. Here were stunningly beautiful sissies attired in my designs – the clothes that I had drawn during my erotic sessions with the gorgeous and deeply kinky Ms Blakemore. This range of Senso-based attire was to be a pivotal part of the fetishistic transformation of the male and the creation of the Femocracy. Suddenly, even as I reluctantly consumed Annette’s most intimate body fluids, I was filled with a helpless pride and a deep, burning excitement: this was how I would serve, this would be my joyous contribution to the Bigger Picture.

  That day of great revelation, less than a week away, fills my mind as Pansy so expertly pleasures me. I moan her name and my love as she pushes deeper into me. I give myself so willingly, I surrender absolutely to my sissy needs. I dream of the wondrous future and my progress to full housemaid status. I wonder about the Operation and the period they call Placements, the special training in various ‘domestic and related educational environments’ and the tests these will pose.

  My heart fills with sweet, sexy anticipation and I feel the initial wave of physical vibration from Pansy’s gorgeous form – she is about to come. Then, it will be my turn to fill her, to let her drink and to empty myself into her soft expertly widened arse.

  As she explodes, as her cries of animal pleasure fill the room, as I recall the detailed images of poor Petal’s dark incredibly exciting suffering at the hands of the actor Taylor playing the cruel Dom Eric, the door to the bedroom opens. Our mutual pleasure is interrupted by the arrival of Ms Blakemore, Mistress Helen and Christina.

  We separate and pull ourselves up from the bed, startled and rather dishevelled. We curtsey and stare down at our stockinged feet, our freed, damp and carefully decorated sexes rising before us proudly.

  Mistress Helen beholds us with a smile of wicked satisfaction.

  ‘You have both done very well in the past twelve weeks. Your progress has been heartening. The processes used to create you will soon be applied on a national basis – through the regional training academies, through the dissemination of Senso and through the political interventions of the Bigger Picture. This is, of course, only the beginning, but within ten years, we are confident the Femocracy will be established over a large part of this tormented world. The rule of the Phallus is drawing to an end, and you, my sissy sweets, can be proud of the fact that you played a crucial role in its much deserved downfall. But there is a little way to go before you are finally ready to play your role. Your training is only half complete. Before formal graduation, you must undergo the training placements. And before that, we need to complete your physical transformation.’

  We listen spellbound, our sissy hearts speeding up, knowing that we are on the verge of the next marvellous phase of our sissification. I behold Mistress Helen and I am in holy awe of a true goddess. It is my sole purpose to serve her and all womankind in any way they see fit, and this thought fills me with a deep and highly erotic satisfaction. I look at her superb buxom form and remember the exquisite pleasures of servicing her every need. The taste of her, the feel of her, the smell of her washes over me, trace memories of a divine sexual submission. She is dressed in a tight black nylon sweater, a favoured item of clothing that very deliberately reveals her very large and still firm breasts to maximum teasing effect. A long black velvet skirt runs down to her shins, out of which emerge her shapely black nylon-sheathed legs and feet so sweetly imprisoned in elegant and very beautiful black leather ankle boots with fierce, at least three-inch stiletto heels. Pinned to her considerable chest is a diamond brooch – a sparkling rose, the symbol of SMC and the velvet-gloved steel fist of the Bigger Picture.

  ‘We have arrived at the Operation,’ she continues. ‘The point at which you will undergo your final and most significant physical changes. During the next eighty hours, you will be given the body that will enable you to fulfil your sissy destiny and experience a physical pleasure previously only dreamed of. Externally, there will be no way of telling that you are in fact she-males; the level of feminine design will be perfect and utterly convincing. Of course, you will retain your male genitalia, but these will be, as they have been, tightly restrained and expertly hidden until required.’

  We curtsey our understanding on weak knees and Mistress Helen smiles.

  ‘Good. Now we can continue.’

  Christina, stunning and resplendent in her senior housemaid’s attire, steps forward. In her hands is a small velvet-lined case. She holds it before Ms Blakemore.

  The gorgeous plump negress stares at me. I smile weakly and her amazing honey-brown eyes fill with erotic warmth. I know it is her, more than any other Mistress in this divine cave of sissy delights, who has ensured my progression to this vital point.

  Christina opens the case and reveals two small syringes. Ms Blakemore takes one of the syringes from the case and tells Pansy to bend over.

  ‘The Operation will take place in the hospital wing later this evening,’ Mistress Helen announces. ‘You will be kept heavily sedated until then, and during the Operation itself you will be under a general anaesthetic. A number of minor procedures will need to be performed following the major surgery, so the sedation will continue for at least two more days. The entire process should take no more than eighty hours.’

  Pansy lets out a squeal of sissy shock more than pain as Ms Blakemore inserts the thin needle of the syringe into her pert pink left buttock. Within a few seconds, she has fallen face down on the bed, her eyes fluttering, consciousness slipping from her like an erotically removed veil.

  Then it is my turn. As the divine ultra-kinky Ms Blakemore prepares the syringe, I consider the events of the past weeks and feel a wave of happiness wash over me. Now, perhaps surprisingly, there is no fear. Now, there is only a supreme sense of rightness, of a destiny in the process of being fulfilled.

  After the Operation, there will be the Adjustment – a period of one week where Pansy and I will be trained to come to terms with our new ultra-feminine sex bomb bodies. The thought of having the amazing utterly convincing breasts that Christina and Annette sport with such a deeply sissy pride fills me with joy. At last, I am to be a true sissified servant of the Bigger Picture. And after the Adjustment come the Placements, five two-week ‘off site educational experiences’, where sissies are made to serve other members and agents of the Bigger Picture. And at the end of the Placements, there is a final assessment and, hopefully, graduation. Then, my return to sweet Aunt Jane and the new West Country branch of SMC.

  The needle enters my tender sissy flesh and I moan with a furious masochistic pleasure. Then a vast swirling pool of semi-blackness opens up before me, a pool I fall into helplessly, every muscle in my body relaxing to the point where I feel made of water. I am on the bed, on my back. I am aware of what is happening, but there is nothing I can do or say. I am paralysed.

  Despite my physical incapacity, I am stripped naked. Then, to my horror – a horror I cannot express – a further injection is administered, this one into my groin. I try to cry out. But nothing happens. I feel nothing. Mistress Helen appears in my field of vision, a vast goddess of this bizarre and beautiful cult. Then she disappears and I am aware of a wave of truly powerful sexual arousal crashing over my body. My numbness is not total: within a few seconds of this additional injection, my cock is rock hard and I am very much aware of it.

  Then a white nylon stocking is pulled over my painfully stiff sex and tied tightly in place around my balls with a pink silk ribbon. Then my body is being sealed inside a pink Senso rubber body glove. Armless, legless, a tool of complete and deeply erotic immobilisation. Then, a fat sponge gag is gently slipped into my mouth. I cannot talk, but I am to be gagged. Then, finally, a matching pink Senso rubber eyeless hood is pulled carefully over my head. Then there is silence and darkness. Then, finally, a deep silence and a vast all-powerful blackness. In my delightful sissy bondage, I slip into a bottomless pool of unconsciousness.

  Part Two: Changelings

  5

  Recovery

  I REMEMBER VERY
little about the next few days. For most of the time I was either heavily sedated or totally anaesthetised. The physical transformations occurred without any real sense of awareness. I remember the masked faces of doctors and nurses, almost all female. I remember bright blinding lights, momentary explosions of mini-suns cutting into a prolonged blackness. I remember waking in total darkness and realising I was once again in the tight bondage of transportation that was the fat sponge gag and the body glove. I remember a heaviness around my chest and a sudden, incredible sense of physical sensitivity that exploded into awe-inspiring pleasure, only briefly, but enough to warn me of the physical delight that was soon to be mine on a permanent basis.

  Then I remember waking in a room, a new room, yet with a very familiar oval design. I was back in the underground training chamber and I was truly changed. And yet I was also more me than ever before.

  I was dressed in a pink baby doll of very sheer pink Senso silk, tight pink rubber panties, pink Senso nylon stockings. I was lying on my back on a single bed staring up at a soft pink strip light. A sense of deep unreality washed over me. It felt as if I was observing my own body, as if I had become totally detached from the world as it is. This feeling gradually faded, and, eventually, I had the strength to sit up. And it was at this point that the true nature of my new self became startlingly apparent.

  As I hauled myself into a sitting position, I became aware of a new and significant weight around my chest. It was then that I looked down to discover the wondrous vision that was my new more than ample bosom. I squealed with a deep and powerful delight as this masterful addition to my sissified form became apparent to my wide helplessly girlish eyes. And even as I beheld my splendid breasts for the first time, I was becoming very aware of their most arresting feature: ultra-sensitivity.