Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  Her rigid crimson and totally unrestrained sex rises out of the lace-edged hole positioned between her legs. It is only a few inches from my face and I stare at its imposing tumescence with shock and helpless arousal. Then the teasing voice of Mistress Eleanor fills the room.

  ‘You obviously needed milking quite badly, Shelly. Taylor has suggested that the three of you spend the night together, and I am happy to oblige. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the little ménage-à-trois we have arranged.’

  I hear a squealing behind me and manage to tilt my head around to see Christina positioned directly between my legs. She has been freed from the awful pole-based penis gag and re-tied to the pole in exactly the same way as poor Pansy. She remains encased in shimmering black Senso rubber, but her very considerable and highly excited sex has been freed from its wicked restraint and is now only inches from my helplessly exposed backside.

  The fiendish cunning of what is about to happen hits me hard. As poor Christina moans with furious excitement into her eyeless rubber hood, her mouth now filled with a large black rubber ball gag, as her ample breasts bounce in their tight rubber prison, as her own anal vibrator drives her mad with dark sex need, I see very clearly the wicked plan Mistress Eleanor and Master Taylor are about to put into kinky operation.

  Mistress Eleanor comes briefly into view behind Pansy. The poles are affixed to solid metal stands, which are themselves on small rubber wheels. Mistress Eleanor slowly pushes the stand towards me as Taylor takes up position behind Christina and begins to push her stand towards my exposed arse.

  ‘Open wide!’ the gorgeous American beauty snaps.

  Suddenly, Pansy’s cock is brushing against my lips. Instinctively, I open my mouth and it slips slowly inside. I gag and moan, and then feel Christina’s tremendous sex begin to work its way into my expertly trained anal passage. I am to suck and be fucked, to be part of a sissy sex triptych.

  Eventually, Pansy’s cock is forced deep into my mouth. It is then that Mistress Eleanor reveals a thick leather collar secured to my neck, with two lengths of white leather running from it. She takes up the lengths of white leather and pulls on them hard, forcing Pansy’s body to press against my face. She buckles the straps together just beneath Pansy’s pert helpless wiggling buttocks, and thus ensures we are very intimately tied together.

  As I suck helplessly on Pansy’s hard boiling cock, Christina’s sex slips deeper into my rectum as Taylor wheels the gorgeous buxom she-male into position. I whimper with an intense double pleasure as she presses deep into me and experience a new level of masochistic pleasure.

  Held rigid by the straps, I am a helpless receptacle of cock. Almost as soon as Christina is fully inside me, she begins to pump her sex, setting up an erotic fucking rhythm. This is in part created by the fierce vibrations travelling from her arse and across her tightly rubberised form. A similar vibration is being transmitted via Pansy’s hot moist cock, and soon my own body is shaking helplessly and my own cock is being tortured as it tugs helplessly against the chain holding it firmly in place beneath the metal table.

  And this is how we are left.

  I hear Mistress Eleanor move closer to me and then a warm hand is stroking my buttocks.

  ‘You are the perfect specimen, Shelly,’ she whispers. ‘And your cock is quite beautiful. Tonight, you will pleasure your dainty companions while I fuck Taylor. Think of me as you fill with come.’

  I hear Pansy’s moans suddenly increase in volume and realise that Taylor is, in some kinky terrible way, teasing his pretty ultra-sissy to the edge of masochistic ecstasy.

  Then the hands are gone, the moaning lowers to a background hum accompanied by the wicked buzzing of the vibrators, and I feel Pansy’s cock begin to press harder into my mouth. The vein in her sex throbs and the bulbous head bangs mercilessly against the back of my throat. Her moans transform into squeals of furious sissy pleasure and I respond by sucking harder. Then, after a sudden well gagged wail of ecstatic pain, she explodes into my mouth, and I struggle to swallow her thick hot salty come without choking. Tears pour from my eyes, my tightly bound, sheer nylon-sheathed body quivers with serious nerve-tingling pleasure and, within seconds of swallowing the last drop of Pansy’s sex nectar, I feel Christina push that little bit harder into me and I know she too is about to achieve a volcanic orgasm.

  It will be a long, testing night, a fact made clear when the powerful strip light that illuminates this strange terrible chamber is switched off and we are plunged into a complete and utter darkness. I remember the feel of Mistress Eleanor’s own soft lips around my now cruelly imprisoned sex and realise this is my punishment. I remember Myriam’s gorgeous soft hungry form pressed so tightly against my own, and realise this is the price I must pay for a day of subversion. Yet even as I suffer this prolonged sightless torment, I am overwhelmed by a dreadfully deep-rooted and powerful sexual arousal. I am riding the endless roller coaster of sadomasochistic desire that frames every decision taken, every word spoken and every movement made in the kinky academy of the Sissy Maids Company.

  8

  An Interlude with Myriam

  THE NEXT FEW days are easily the busiest and most exciting of my delightful stay in the academy, for these are the two days before the annual fundraising Ball, a key event in the calendar of the Bigger Picture organisation which, this year, will also include the formal graduation of the newest Sissy Maids, Pansy and Shelly. But we are to be displayed publicly not just for ceremonial purposes: the newest model of sissy, of which we are the spectacular prototypes, will be used to convince the doubters amongst those present, those with significant influence who remain on the periphery of the Bigger Picture, that the vision of a global Femocracy is a viable one, that the future can be feminised and a dictatorship of all powerful women established. There will also be a vital keynote speech by Mistress Eleanor, a speech which will set out the Bigger Picture in a detail previously unheard or impossible. This will be a most important night, and the academy buzzes with a highly erotic and deeply invigorating excitement.

  In our beautiful sexy scarlet trainee costumes, Pansy and I totter hastily about the Ashcroft mansion under the strict but fair command of our mistresses and the senior housemaids, Christina and Annette. Mistress Helen is in overall charge of the arrangements for the Ball, which will be held in the vast banqueting room, which takes up most of the ground floor of the north wing of the house, and which is accessed via the large beautiful ornate entrance hallway and foyer.

  As the percussive ring of stiletto heels striking marble and wood fills the house, I am suddenly aware of the beauty and history of this grand country residence. The Ashcroft family has been associated with the house and the county since the Civil War, and 350 years of history, which has been carefully hidden by the SMC occupancy, is suddenly returning to the formal elegant rooms, rooms previously used to entertain kings, queens and a vast array of other dignitaries.

  Overall control of the operational aspect of the event is devolved by Mistress Helen to Christina. At first, I am shocked to learn that she will be in control not only of the sissies, but of the female maids and the small army of female catering staff who have been brought in to support the event. Yet Christina’s administrative skills are considerable, and she quickly demonstrates why she is the Senior Housemaid and the most trusted of all the SMC sissies.

  In her striking black silk dress, sheer, delicately seamed black nylon tights and five-inch-heeled black patent leather court shoes, her gorgeous silken jet hair bound in a tight bun, a cream silk pinafore tied tightly over her dress and accentuating her buxom figure, she is a vision of paradox: power and submission, control and absolute subjugation.

  Pansy and I are directly under her control, and we are quickly reacquainted with a simple and very painful fact: Christina is a particularly hard task mistress. Punishments for the slightest infraction or error are frequent and harsh, and after a few hours in her brutal care our shapely sissy bottoms and thighs are stinging from the determ
ined application of an ivory-handled riding crop that is permanently fixed to a leather belt worn beneath her gorgeous silk pinafore.

  Our own sheer red nylon tights soon rather ineffectively hide the cherry-red welts that criss-cross our upper thighs and buttocks. Our cries of protest and pain are quickly silenced by fat cherry-red ball gags, and we spend much of the time with our mouths painfully filled and tears of genuine pain filling our wide sissy eyes. Yet even as she so cruelly punishes us, we secretly beg for more. This is our reason to be: to suffer and serve in the name of the Bigger Picture and the divine sisterhood that is at its unyielding gorgeous heart.

  Yet it is not only Pansy and me who suffer. The lovely incredibly desirable Myriam is assigned to our work team and she too must endure the constant painful encouragements unleashed by the cruel gorgeous she-male. Dressed in her own sexy black silk housemaid’s dress, her own soft strawberry ripe lips soon framing a fat black rubber ball gag, she works alongside us with a graceful patience, putting our own masochistic acceptance to shame with her resilience and tolerance of abuse.

  And then there are her stunning honey-brown eyes and the way they constantly seek out mine, the way they subtly attempt to recall the glorious illegal intimacies of our time bound so tightly together in the erotic darkness of the movement studio’s tiny storage cupboard. And then there is my helpless response, to return her frank desiring look with a furious confession of deep need. Yes, the confession of a true and irresistible need, and further proof that the indoctrination of the SMC academy has, in one key area, failed: despite my sexual attraction to all the lovely sexy sissies, I remain at the very most a bisexual, and most likely still a heterosexual sissy, a woman-loving transvestite, whose body has been clearly and ruthlessly transformed, but whose soul, while willingly bound to the service of all womankind, is still very much the soul of a male. As much as I love my feminine frillies, my sheer nylons, my tight silken panties, my startling high heels and, most importantly, my splendidly large and perfectly formed breasts, I still remain sexually oriented in a profound psychological manner towards the female.

  During the build up to the Ball, we work punishing twelve-hour days cleaning, washing, ironing, arranging guest quarters and setting out tables and chairs. All twenty of the en-suite guest rooms are to be used for this major Bigger Picture event, and the mistresses demand that each one is prepared to the highest standards of cleanliness and general suitability for a powerful influential woman.

  And then, on the Friday afternoon before the day of the Ball, something truly remarkable and shocking occurs, something that was perhaps inevitable, given the constant presence of the beautiful Myriam and the terrible relentless temptation she poses to me, something which is to change everything in a dark, terrible and tremendously exciting way.

  We are assigned guest room twelve, just the two of us, by Christina. I look at her with a hint of doubt and she places her silken-gloved hand threateningly on the painfully familiar riding crop. That morning, Mistress Helen left suddenly on business associated with the guests and Mistress Anne has been placed in overall control of the arrangements. There is a sense that we are behind schedule, and the atmosphere amongst the slaves has become far more intense, inspired no doubt by the fact that Mistress Anne has already made a sadistic and deliberate point of thrashing her personal tutee, Pansy, in front of the rest of us, simply as ‘an inspiration’. And it is she who has taken Pansy and Annette to room thirteen, leaving Christina to manage the preparations of rooms twelve and fourteen.

  Luckily, I am yet to be thrashed today, although poor Myriam has already been given a sound spanking by a clearly aroused Christina. Both of us are ungagged, and, due to the nature of the work, both of us are fetter free. I am, of course, dressed in my helplessly erotic cherry-red junior’s attire – a gorgeous red silk dress that fits tightly across my buxom sissy form, and over which a white silk lace-trimmed pinafore is tightly tied. My legs are sheathed in sheer red seamed nylon tights and my feet are held erotic captive in beautiful black patent leather court shoes with reasonably manageable three-inch heels. My hair is bound tightly in a strict bun and held in place with the stylish diamond rose clasp that so many of us in the forced employ of the Sissy Maids Company are required to wear. Beneath this sexy ensemble, I am wearing a tight rubber mini corset, a teasing white silk-lined lace-frilled brassiere that is constantly caressing my ultra-sensitive breasts and a pair of white silk heavily befrilled panties, beneath which my poor, constantly hard sex is trapped in its prison of tight teasing rubber and brutal cool steel. A fresh extra-large vibrator has been slipped into my arse and is buzzing at a relatively low level of maddening stimulation as I struggle eagerly to fulfil my sissy duties.

  Myriam is clad, as usual, in the uniform of a fully qualified housemaid – a virtual mirror of my own sexy costume, but coloured jet black except for the white silk pinafore and a very dainty white silk maid’s cap with long silk ribbons that run down the back of her tightly bound hair. From the distracted look in her beautiful honey-brown eyes, I know that she has been fitted with the special ‘ecstasy belt’ that Mistress Anne had demonstrated so cruelly and erotically during our recent kinky adventure in the movement studio.

  Christina leaves us alone in the room and we set about our duties with a significantly reduced enthusiasm, our bodies tired and tormented by the powerful sexual desire that is now a constant and unyielding companion, our minds unable to focus on the tasks at hand. And soon we are looking at each other with wide sex-addled eyes.

  ‘I want you,’ Myriam whispers, as we make up the large double bed.

  A silk sheet rises and falls and suddenly our faces are inches apart.

  ‘I can’t. If we’re caught, I’ll be changed … completely. I’ve never been with a woman. They like that. They want me to be a virgin.’

  She smiles gently. ‘I want you, Shelly. And you want me. We are fighting the inevitable. And no one need know. Christina has left for at least an hour – she has gone to play with Annette, to relieve her suffering for a little while. Now let us relieve ours.’

  ‘But Mistress Anne … she’s in the next room!’

  ‘She is watching Christina and Annette fuck. Then they will pleasure her. We are the only ones on this floor working, my love.’

  She moves closer, her perfume a powerful soul-weakening tease.

  ‘But the belt, the restrainer.’

  ‘I can remove yours and you can remove mine.’

  Then she kisses me, a long deep hard kiss that leaves my heart fluttering furiously and turns my delicately hosed knees to useless jelly.

  I am utterly startled. This is nothing like kissing a sissy. There is a softness here, an all-consuming gentle embrace; she is taking me and giving herself completely at the same time.

  And then we are kneeling on the bed. Despite my doubts and fears, I know I can no longer control myself: I must have her, I have to complete what we began in the sweet darkness of the closet and what has been in the many looks of mutual need that have passed between us in the last few, so terribly exciting weeks.

  I feel her small soft perfectly formed hands press against my breasts and I cannot resist allowing my own hands to fall onto her hosed thighs. I feel warm firm skin through the erotic film of sheer nylon, and my hands inch gently beneath a sea of lacy frou-frou petticoating.

  ‘Feel me, Shelly. Feel the core of me, my pretty sissy petal.’

  Yet when my hands finally reach the top of her thighs and move toward her nyloned sex, I encounter Mistress Anne’s wicked, so sensual ecstasy belt. I press against a nylon-sheathed hard rubber panel and Myriam squeals with pleasure. I know that fitted to this panel is a large ribbed vibrator and that it is now locked deep inside her cunt, and as I push against the panel, it digs deeper into her long-tormented sexual heart.