Christina then carefully buttons up the dress and I am sealed tightly in my divine sissy destiny. As the dress tightens still further, I immediately notice the impact it has on my substantial chest, pushing it upward and outward and thus displaying my impressive bosom in a very deliberate and erotic manner. This brilliant exhibition fills me with a strong sense of sissy pride and tears of joy well in my big blue eyes.
‘I do believe she is moved to tears,’ Mistress Helen teases.
‘Are you happy with your new body, Shelly?’ Ms Blakemore asks.
‘Yes, mistress,’ I respond, my new sissy voice shocking and arousing. ‘Very much. Thank you.’
The two beautiful dominants smile. Christina then returns to the wardrobe to extract a silver-coloured shoe box. Returning, she lays the box at my feet and removes the lid.
I look down at a pair of white silk-lined court shoes with striking six-inch spiked stiletto heels. Each shoe has a small silver rose fitted to its pointed toe.
Christina removes the amazing shoes and I look at Ms Blakemore with genuine fear: how, if I can hardly stand, am I to manage to balance in these astonishing heels?
‘Over the past few months,’ Mistress Helen explains, ‘you have learnt all about balance; about the careful counter-weighting that is at the heart of sissy movement and deportment. Now it is time to apply everything you have learnt to this final test.’
Supported by Myriam, I step into the first shoe. Her powerful rose petal perfume is an erotic cloud of dark sexual intent, and as my arm rests on her silk-sheathed shoulder, an electric shock of mutual need passes between us. As I step into the second shoe, she whispers to me in a thick helplessly erotic French accent, ‘You are very sexy, Shelly.’
I am too distracted by my sudden and highly precarious elevation to respond in any way to these teasing and deeply provocative words. Suddenly, all I am concerned about is the imminent collapse that threatens as Myriam steps back and I am left to try and judge the counter-balancing of the heels with my considerable and relatively heavy breasts.
‘Lean back,’ Christina advises. ‘Imagine you are leaning onto a wall or the back of a chair. At the same time try and keep your back very straight.’
I follow her advice and find this provides temporary relief from the threat of a humiliating collapse into a heap of sissy pretties. Then I am ordered to take a step.
I look at the women in utter horror. Christina steps forward and slaps me soundly on my right thigh. I squeal with surprise and totter forward. This totter quickly becomes a desperate mincing, for I know that if I stop I will surely lose my balance. Yet, it is this very panic-stricken mincing that allows me to begin to come to terms with the careful subtle art of counter-balance that is at the heart of walking with my glorious new breasts in the highest of sissy heels. I keep my long silk-sheathed legs close together and feel the cheeks of my pert bottom push the teasingly fat vibrator even deeper into my arse. My hips sway and my backside wiggles almost uncontrollably.
The women and their beautiful slaves watch me with an analytical interest. I feel my breasts bounce before me as I totter around the room and a terrible sense of helpless display fires my furious masochistic need. I feel their eyes burn into me and feel how all attractive, buxom women must feel, and I am consumed by a terrible gratitude for my transformation into a chesty sissy slave girl.
After a few minutes, to my surprise, I find that I can balance reasonably well in the heels. My mistresses are also surprised and praise my rapid progress. Then I am made to stand to attention before Mistress Helen.
Christina takes what initially appears to be a maid’s cap from the wardrobe, but closer inspection reveals it to be a strange silk and satin tiara-type device coloured the same white as my amazing dress, with my name printed across the front in pink letters.
This is carefully positioned over my thick blonde curls. Then, using familiar white rubber-coated cording, Christina ties my wrists tightly behind my back. Assisted by a clearly aroused Myriam, she then tightly and painfully secures my elbows in a similar manner. This bondage is followed by a very large white rubber ball gag attached to thick white rubber strapping. I gasp and squeal and my mistresses laugh.
‘What a pretty picture of sissy perfection,’ Ms Blakemore teases and Mistress Helen nods knowingly.
Under Mistress Helen’s direct command, Myriam then produces a thick white leather collar from the wardrobe and Christina attaches it around the high neck of the white silk dress. Mistress Helen attaches a silver leash chain to an eye fixed to the front of the collar, and then I am ready to be displayed before the staff and slaves of the Academy.
My eyes meet Ms Blakemore’s and I see a dark carefully planned triumph and the contemplation of the rise of the Bigger Picture, a rise I know I must play a key roll in achieving.
Christina tugs on the leash and I wiggle-mince out of the room behind her. As I pass Myriam, she allows her hand to brush against my silk-wrapped thigh and I know something strange and important is beginning between us.
A few minutes later, we enter the library that dominates the lower floor of the mansion house above the training chambers. I have tottered from the lift across wood and marble floors, my tightly pantied bottom wiggling with an uncontrollable enthusiasm, my splendid pristine breasts bouncing excitedly before me. As I mince forward, I am lost in a cloud of pure sexual excitement. Despite reaching a plateau of intense arousal during the earlier bout of very necessary bondage therapy, the highly erotic process of walking with my new body has increased the levels of excitement considerably. This has undoubtedly been made worse by the fact that as soon as we entered the main corridor of the training chambers, the huge vibrator lodged so firmly in my carefully tenderised sissy arse began to throb wickedly once again.
In the library, there is already a gathering of the other mistresses and slaves. As I enter, all eyes turn towards me and a collective whisper of curiosity quickly fills the elegant book-lined room. In the centre of the room is a small white podium. I am led to it and made to stand before the group. I feel a wall of excited eyes burn into me and I stare down at my high-heeled feet. Despite this display of helpless sissy modesty, I feel as if my breasts have been uncovered and revealed to all, for the majority of the eyes are carefully studying my truly impressive bosom.
Then the door to the library opens once again and Pansy enters, dressed exactly as I am and accompanied by Mistress Anne, Annette and Kathy. My eyes immediately seek out hers. But her eyes have already found those that are now the most important. A sense of powerful disappointment strikes me as I see her staring directly at Master Taylor, her eyes filled with a terrible adoration, an almost childish need for comfort and praise. Taylor, in turn, is clearly deeply aroused by the arrival of the latest sissy changeling. His tall broad muscled body, wrapped in black leather T-shirt and matching very tight trousers, fills the room like a terrible aching paradox amongst this beautiful army of determined feminisers. There is a slight smile on his normally hard almost expressionless face, a smile that betrays a genuine love for this gorgeous sissy creature. I am shocked and also aroused. In the incredible video, Visions of the Future, Taylor’s character, Eric, had subjected poor Petal to terribly perverse and intimate humiliations, but even in the heart of what was a stunningly graphic sado-erotic drama, the mutual pleasure both were taking in this ballet of bondage, domination and fierce control was brutally and beautifully apparent.
The gorgeous freshly transformed sissy is brought over to the podium and made to stand beside me. As she is positioned, her eyes meet mine. Desire and a mutual recognition of our shared fate are instantly communicated. We stare at each other’s beautiful ultra-eroticised forms and moan helplessly into our fat ball gags.
Then we are helped up onto the podium by Christina and Kathy. Now, we are truly displayed. The podium is high enough to ensure that everyone present can get a clear view not only of our impressive upper bodies, but also of our finely hosed legs and pretty undies. Bound, gagged an
d overwhelmed by masochistic pleasure, we sway precariously in our high heels and fight back tears of submissive joy and almost unbearable physical pleasure.
Mistress Helen then steps before us.
‘Sisters and slaves, today is a landmark day for the Company, and, more importantly, for the Bigger Picture. For today, we have a very real and impressive vision of the future. In Shelly and Pansy we have the first sissies to be produced by our mass production feminisation process. By the end of the current year, we will be applying this process to sissies across Europe and America. By the end of next year, we will be applying it across the globe.’
The women reward Mistress Helen with a warm loud round of applause and I feel the future surround and envelop me.
‘The first regional centres are nearly complete, and the first phase of the Sados complex will be ready by the time the centres produce the first batch of sissy slaves. We will achieve the first target of five hundred sissies within twelve months. This number will have increased to nearly three thousand within twenty-four months. By the end of the tenth year, we will have reached our optimum production capacity of twenty-five thousand sissies a year.’
Again there is loud and enthusiastic applause. I look up from the exquisite humiliation of my erotic display and see the burning eyes of true zealots. The library is filled with the electric energy of the will to power. My fate is in the hands of this furious deeply erotic energy, this powerful female Eros that will spread across the world and do battle with male Thanatos. A true life and death struggle.
Then we are helped from the podium and led through the throng of women. I feel hands brush against my delicately hosed thighs and pantied bottom; I moan with helpless gratitude and drink up the aroused fascinated gazes of the mistresses. Then Taylor steps forward, directly blocking Pansy’s path. The poor sissy totters to a halt and looks up at the tall broad cold-eyed master, her eyes filled with awe and fear.
‘You said I could have her tonight.’
His words are delivered in a harsh hungry monotone to the women, but it is clear they are aimed directly at Mistress Helen. Shockingly, there is no respect in his voice, just a primitive need.
Mistress Helen moves up behind Pansy.
‘Yes. I did. And you can. Do what you please, but don’t damage her.’
He smiles very slightly and grabs the leash from Annette. Pansy squeals with fear and desire into the fat ball gag and shakes her new fulsome breasts in a desperate gesture of burning tormenting sexual arousal. Taylor’s smile broadens and he tugs on the leash. He leads Pansy from the library like a slave master with a new particularly sexy catch. The rest of us watch with teased eyes pinned to Pansy’s desperately wiggling tightly pantied backside, a spectacle of pure she-male sexual being.
Then they have gone and a deep bemused silence, cut through with high voltage sexual electricity, fills the room. What I have just seen seems to go against every rule of the Academy: a male asserting the right of possession; a male dominating with the sheer power of an impressive physical presence. Yet the women accept this without question; indeed, in Helen’s eyes there had been a strangely traditional sexual arousal, as if the spectacle of Taylor exerting his ‘right’ had actually turned her on.
The chain attached to my own collar is then tugged abruptly. I look up at Ms Blakemore.
‘He will have his fun, and I will have mine.’
She is my splendid sex goddess and I am her most abject and loving of disciples. I moan with submissive acceptance and she leads me from the library, my sex-soaked eyes drinking up her startlingly well-proportioned and endlessly promising form. My first night as a fully formed sissy slave promises to be a particularly testing and exciting one.
Over the next week, I undergo detailed instruction in every element of my new she-male physique. I am taught to walk and talk, to bend and rise, to perform deep utterly submissive curtsies. I am even taught to dance. Under Mistress Donna’s careful instruction, the subtleties of she-male movement are revealed, subtleties I seem naturally attuned to, and which I quickly adapt as core parts of my own physical demeanour. Pansy, already naturally more feminine, seems to need virtually no instruction at all. Although we are trained side by side, I am increasingly aware that she is changing much more profoundly than I. Her femininity seems so deeply engrained that she resembles one of the female slaves more than a sissy. And at the same time as the truth of her rises before my stunned deeply impressed eyes, it becomes increasingly apparent that our deep sissy friendship is drawing to a close. Her heart is now truly Taylor’s. Although she remains the property of all women, and Mistress Anne in particular (whom she continues to serve with a truly masochistic enthusiasm), it is Taylor who now commands her true affections. It is him she spends her evenings with, him she serves at weekends. When not being trained, when not serving the mistresses of the house in general work tasks, she is at Taylor’s side.
However, we are still allowed nominally to share the same room and, on at least two occasions, have been allowed the mutual joys of our startling sissy bodies, and there is no doubt Pansy has found the times we have been left alone together in the period leading up to the Placements deeply satisfying and highly erotic.
These periods are made even more exciting by the manner in which we are left together and the way we have been prepared for this blissful togetherness, and this in turn is closely related to the strange relationship between the lovely Christina, our senior housemaid, and the beautiful nubile maid Myriam.
An early change in the regime of strictly enforced feminisation has been the increasing presence of Myriam. While Pansy has surrendered to the affections of Taylor, I have found myself increasingly in the company of this beautiful real girl, who, on these occasions, is under the stern instruction of Christina. And it has quickly become apparent why I am so often in the company of the beautifully petite French girl: she is to be an example to me, a paradigm of pure flawless femininity for me to observe and copy. Yet surely she is also an exemplar of sweet submissiveness, for her unquestioning obedience is absolute and constant. She obeys her various mistresses with a graceful enthusiasm that makes my own eagerness to please pale into insignificance.
Yet as well as an example, I suspect the lovely Myriam may also be a test, and a very difficult one. Why? Because her beauty is almost unbearable, and it is very clear that she is attracted to me. In moments of paranoia, I have taken her frank sexual looks to be part of the test: she is setting me up in some way: if I can resist her considerable charms, I will have passed in the final examination on the road to the Placements.
The relationship between Myriam and Christina is perhaps the strangest and most paradoxical relationship in this gloriously kinky academy. Its model is the relationship between Kathy and Christina and tells very clearly of the flexible notion of female domination at the heart of the philosophy of the Bigger Picture. Christina is very clearly the boss, the dominate maid in any duty or event the two participate in together. Here the real girl is the servant of the sissy. But perhaps this reflects the unique position of Christina within the School. She is very much the First Sissy, the senior housemaid with administrative and operational responsibility for all the maids – she-male and female.
The nature of the relationship between Myriam and Christina has been made most apparent during the two periods of erotic intimacy that Pansy and I have been allowed to share in the period approaching the Placements. It is here that Christina’s own ambivalent feelings towards the new ‘fully formed’ sissies and towards the gorgeous Myriam have found their clearest and kinkiest expression.
Two nights after our formal presentation to the masters and slaves of the Sissy Maids Company, and after a hard day of training, mainly under the strict but compassionate regime of Mistress Donna, we are returned to our shared bedroom. We are led by Christina and Annette, tightly tethered, hobbled and gagged, the vibrators buzzing in our wide sissy arses. We whimper into our fat white rubber ball gags with a furious need, as Christina h
as promised us both ‘a very special treat’. Our tightly restrained breasts bounce helplessly before us and we totter desperately on five-inch high heels, our ankles hobbled with leather shackles held together by a six-inch length of silver chain. Since the transformation, the level of bondage applied to our pretty sissy forms has increased significantly. I suspect this is simply to ensure we are kept under control, for desire, a blinding brutal and all pervasive desire, is our constant companion. Now, more than ever, we see the world through sex-tinted glasses. I have been angrily erect since I awoke from the transformative sleep, and the power of the erection has truly tested the security of my fiendish unforgiving cock restraints. This has created a significant and constant discomfort, which, in the whirlpool of my dark bottomless masochistic desire, has itself only added to the sense of maddening arousal.
Once in the room, the maids untie us and remove the mouth-stretching gags. Then, under their careful instruction, we strip. We undress each other with shaking hands and much moaning, our beautiful bodies and the gorgeous sissy clothing that cover them dreadful provocations to our enraged sexes.
The two maids watch with cruel amused eyes. Since the Transformation, there is no doubt an element of jealousy has crept into our relationship with Christina and Annette. Christina has personally spanked me twice in the last two days for very minor misdemeanours, and during the two nights spent in the ‘recovery-room’ I have been sealed in a very tight rubber sleep-sack, my mouth stuffed with two pairs of mistress panties held in place by layers of thick silver duct tape, a black stocking pulled tightly over my head, the vibrator buzzing angrily deep within my backside.
So, as well as the helpless sexual excitement that appears my permanent lot, there is also considerable apprehension gripping me as I strip my sissy love. And this apprehension increases significantly when Myriam suddenly enters the room. Yet this is not Myriam in her normal sexy maid’s costume. No: this is Myriam clad in a striking white nylon body stocking and the most startling high-heeled hobble boots. Myriam barely able to walk thanks to the curved-front five-inch platforms and the matching razor-sharp stiletto heels. Myriam wearing fingerless white rubber gloves that reach up to her shoulders. Myriam wearing a thick white leather belt with an equally thick connector strip that runs from the front of the belt down between her lovely legs and up via the cheeks of her perfect buttocks to the rear of the belt. Myriam with a look of pure terror cut through with irresistible animal desire; with tears of horror and desire threatening to explode from her gorgeous honey-brown eyes.
Silken Servitude Page 11