Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  The large flat-screen TV is turned on and within a few seconds my fate is sealed. For here is the guest room, thirty hours previously, and here is Myriam and myself making violent helpless love. The whole thing had been filmed: an elaborate set-up. A trap I fell into with only a pathetic whimper of resistance.

  And now there is silence, the silence of the undeniable truth. Even Myriam’s desperate squeals of protest cease. I look at her and she returns my angry gaze with a look of weak protest. She has betrayed me, she has been the tool of my destruction. She has led me to a truly terrible and cruel fate. Yet her eyes say NO: I too am a victim. Her costume would seem to support her pleading eyes. But then I realise that she too has been used – used to betray me and then herself betrayed by Mistress Anne. I can find no sympathy for Myriam, although I cannot deny my continued painful desire for this beautiful French maiden.

  After a few minutes, Mistress Helen switches the TV off and turns once again to face me.

  ‘The evidence is overwhelming. Don’t you agree, Amelia?’

  Ms Blakemore’s silence is the equivalent of a thunderous YES.

  Mistress Anne’s smile is large and brutal; the cruel smile of the arrogant victor. Annette looks at me with utter contempt. How much I want to hurt her!

  ‘You will perform the full gender reassignment operation in the morning. Then she and Myriam will be sold.’

  My eyes widen in utter horror: I am to be subject to a full sex change procedure and then sold into white slavery! I look to Ms Blakemore for assistance, but all I find is a harsh gaze of indifference.

  ‘Make sure that she is suited and hooded,’ Ms Blakemore says, her voice filled with a cold disappointment. ‘I never want to see her face again. And make sure Myriam is hooded and crated up. We will ship her out in the morning, and then Shelly will be transported on Monday.’

  Her words are directed to Annette, who has now been joined by Christina, whose own beautiful brown eyes are filled with sympathy and sadness.

  Ms Blakemore then turns her back on me and leaves, followed closely by Mistress Helen and Mistress Anne. We are thus left in the dubious care of Christina and Annette.

  ‘You deal with Myriam,’ Christina says to Annette. ‘I will prepare Shelly.’

  Both Myriam and myself protest violently with a series of well gagged squeals and furious shakes of the head. Annette tugs violently on the leash to silence Myriam and Christina produces a nasty looking riding crop from beneath her pinafore.

  ‘I don’t want to use this, Shelly, but I will if you make me.’

  I fall silent and look at her through tear-stained eyes. There is nothing I can do. I am doomed to the removal of my sex and a dreadful slavery.

  I watch as Annette takes a black latex rubber eyeless and mouthless hood from the pocket in her pinafore and then stretches it with a cruel slowness over Myriam’s beautiful head. The terror in her eyes is almost unbearable as they disappear beneath the layer of skin-tight rubber. Her squeals of fear and outrage quickly return, but by this time, she is totally helpless – bound, gagged, blind, deaf and dumb. She is hauled over to the crate and left to balance precariously as her determined she-male captor removes the lid to reveal a rubber-lined interior and much leather strapping.

  I watch with a deep horror as Annette forces gorgeous helpless Myriam to step over the rim of the crate and then lie face down, so that her voluptuous body fills the length of the crate. The strapping, which is fixed to the sides of the crate, is then used to bind the poor maid in place at the neck, the middle back, the thighs and calves. Thus, she is totally immobilised and ready for shipment. And this, I know, is the fate that awaits me.

  As Annette secures the lid to the crate, my eyes turn toward Christina. She has taken from the wall closet another black rubber body suit and matching hood. It seems I am to spend the night before the awful final operation trapped in the same rubber cocoon as my lovely Myriam.

  Aided by Annette, Christina helps me to my feet and then the two stunning sissy maids begin to untie and undress me. The fat ball gag is left in position, but other than that I am soon completely naked. As I have not been restrained, the two she-males find themselves staring at my still rock-hard long cock with hungry eyes.

  ‘Use the pin restrainer,’ Christina whispers, her voice filled with sissy need.

  Annette’s smile widens and she heads off to the closet. I look at Christina with angry hurt eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Mistress Anne has insisted that you spend your last night as a biological male wearing the pin restrainer.’

  Tears of despair and terror pour from my eyes and in a few moments, Annette has returned with the wicked torture device.

  Christina takes it from her silk-covered hands and then very slowly, even apprehensively, rolls it into a fearsome mouth before beginning to slip it with a paradoxical gentleness over the hard hot length of my cock. I squeal and wiggle. Annette grabs my shoulders and holds me still as the restrainer makes its terrible progress towards and then over my bulging testicles. It feels as if a thousand tiny very sharp teeth are nibbling at my sex flesh and my squeals of considerable discomfort increase substantially. My buttocks clench instinctively around the still-buzzing vibrator, and then, very suddenly, my cock and balls are tightly sealed in the awful rubber prison.

  As I whimper with fear and discomfort, I am forced into the rubber body suit. There are no zips or buttons – just a single opening which I am made to step into. Christina then pulls the suit up my body and in a few minutes I am enveloped from toe to neck. I feel the rock-hard nipples of my substantial breasts push angrily against the second skin rubber and I know that every single contour of my buxom she-male form is outlined and accentuated by the rubber, a fact made very apparent by the looks of desire in the maids’ wide doe eyes.

  My rubber-sheathed arms are forced behind my back and bound with rubber cording at the wrists and elbows and so are my legs at the ankles, knees and thighs. Then I am made to hop back to the chair and forced to sit down upon it. I look up at Christina with pleading eyes and I see tears well up in her own gorgeous orbs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Shelly. I really am. It was so good to have known you. So very good …’

  And these are the last words I hear before the rubber hood is pulled down over my face and I am plunged into a terror-framed darkness and absolute silence.

  Despite my blind terror, my fear-driven heart, my shaking body, I remain helplessly excited. The Senso rubber body suit, the furiously buzzing vibrator and my ultra-sensitive constantly aroused breasts make sure of that. And I remain in this deeply unnerving state for what seems like a dark terrible eternity, yet which, on reflection, is probably no more than an hour or so. Locked in a total silence, so very tightly tethered, in a deep blackness, I can only ponder the ease with which I have been manipulated by Mistress Anne and Myriam. And as I think of Myriam, I again see that she too has been a victim, that she had been betrayed equally by the wicked, beautiful and utterly remorseless Mistress Anne. Indeed, the two of us have been nothing but pawns in the battle for the Bigger Picture, expendable pawns who, having served their purpose, are now being clearly and cruelly disposed of.

  A quiver of horror crashes over my rubberised tormented body as I imagine the coming hours. Soon, I will be taken to the operating theatre hidden deep in the bowels of the Ashcroft mansion house. There, still tightly hooded, I will be put to sleep and subjected to full sex change surgery using the revolutionary techniques developed by Ms Blakemore, techniques that will ensure a near perfect remoulding of my cock and balls into an ultra-sensitive and fully functional vagina. Then I will be crated and shipped abroad, eventually to be sold into sex slavery in the secret markets of a well known third world country. The agents of the Bigger Picture will ensure that both Myriam and myself fetch a high price, and thus that SMC will make a handsome profit.

  Then I find myself thinking of Myriam again – beautiful wildly sexy Myriam, whose buxom perfect body is wrapped so tightly in
second-skin Senso rubber and bound so very securely in the crate just a few inches from where my own tethered form is positioned. I remember our time together once more, the terrible glorious intimacies we have shared in the closet and then in the moments of sex madness so carefully planned by Mistress Anne, moments that led directly and deliberately to this terrible fate. There is no longer a lack of sympathy for Myriam, but there is a black hatred for Mistress Anne, a hatred that surprises me and which I saw, even after the truth had been revealed, in Ms Blakemore’s beautiful eyes.

  But then I sense movement. Somebody has entered the room. Then there are hands at my neck – the hood is being removed.

  The hood is pulled off in one rough powerful tug and my eyes are suddenly blinded by a painfully powerful white light that gradually fades to reveal, standing directly before me, the striking fear-instilling figure of Master Taylor. I squeal with shock into the fat ball gag, a shock quickly increased when I behold the strange vision behind him. For here is Ms Blakemore with my Aunt and Justine. And Justine has a gun, a gleaming silver revolver. And standing before Justine is none other than Mistress Anne. But this is a very different Mistress Anne. For she has been stripped down to just bra, panties, suspender belt and black stockings. A thick strip of silver duct tape covers her mouth and her bulging crimson cheeks betray a fat panty gag. Her eyes are wild with anger and a very real fear. There is a large bruise on her left cheek, and her arms have been lashed tightly behind her back with rubber cording at the elbows and wrists. She moans furiously, but is clearly terrified of the gun that Justine presses against her ribs.

  Then, to my even greater surprise, there is Annette. She is standing next to her gorgeous frightened mistress. But instead of the lovely pink maid’s costume, she is now wearing the exact same Senso rubber body suit as myself. She too has been panty gagged and her lips taped shut with powerful silver duct tape. Her arms are secured in exactly the same way as Mistress Anne’s. Also, a strip of duct tape has been spread cruelly over her eyes.

  Ms Blakemore looks at me and smiles gently.

  ‘Sorry about the little performance earlier,’ she whispers, ‘but we needed to subdue Helen before we made our move.’

  Master Taylor helps me up off the chair and carries me over to my Aunt. He places me before her and I fall into her arms. She pulls me tight against her gorgeous plump body, burying my face in her large maternal bosom.

  She then turns me around so I can witness the summary justice this gathering of ‘moderate women’ intend to apply to Mistress Anne and her treacherous sissy slave.

  As Master Taylor drags a squealing sobbing blinded Annette to the chair, I begin to understand their plan.

  ‘I deliberately instructed Annette to keep you hooded, my little pet,’ Ms Blakemore explains. ‘When we come to get the sissy my colleagues will think is you, it will be a relatively easy task to pass Annette off as Shelly and thus subject her to the sex change procedure. By the time “we” discover the truth, you will be long gone and Anne will be on her way to the slave markets.’

  As Master Taylor forces poor Annette down onto the chair and takes up the hood that has, until a few seconds ago, covered my head, Mistress Anne squeals her terrible useless anger into her own panty gag, outraged by this strange and dreadful turn of events. And as soon as Annette has been secured, Master Taylor turns and walks towards the tall redheaded beauty, a look of hateful determination in his dark sensual eyes. Then all the fight goes out of her. Anger is replaced with an awful girlish fear, a fear made so much worse as Aunt Jane walks in front of her and holds up another black rubber body suit.

  ‘Your travel wear, my dear.’

  Then she is shaking her head furiously and tears of terror are pouring from her eyes. Justine steps forward and rips the lace bra from her body, revealing a pair of pert, beautifully shaped and delicately freckled breasts. Before she can even react to this latest outrage, Master Taylor has grabbed her and ripped away her panties and stockings in two or three powerful strokes that leave the gorgeous dominant naked and utterly helpless.

  I watch with wide aroused eyes as Mistress Anne is forced into the rubber body suit. After a great deal of struggle – including a violent cropping administered with some enthusiasm by Ms Blakemore – Mistress Anne is sealed in the suit and her arms and feet are tightly bound. Then the lid of the crate is removed and poor Myriam is freed from her terrible premature burial. Mistress Anne watches this with horrified eyes, realising now that her fate is truly sealed: she is to be swapped for Myriam and, in a few hours, shipped to a foreign slave market.

  ‘I’m sure they won’t be disappointed when they find a slightly different model to the one advertised,’ Aunt Jane teases.

  Taylor pulls the hood from Myriam’s head and, as the French beauty struggles to come to terms with the light and the bizarre spectacle of this erotic turn around, Taylor passes the hood to Aunt Jane and the beautiful cruel-eyed brunette then slowly pulls it down over Mistress Anne’s head. And soon the redhead’s angry, pathetic squeals fade and she is completely sealed in inescapable teasing Senso rubber. Aunt Jane and Taylor then lay the unfortunate Anne face down in the crate and strap her tightly in position. The lid is replaced and Ms Blakemore steps forward. She takes my head in her hands and guides my astonished eyes to hers.

  ‘This is goodbye for quite a while, Shelly. There was no way I was going to allow them to ruin my greatest creation. By the time they understand what has happened, you will be safe. They will question me, but the blame will fall squarely on Anne and Justine. They will never know that Mistress Eleanor has supported us; that Taylor is our agent. That, ultimately, the moderate wing will triumph.’

  She kisses me on the forehead and I whimper my helpless gratitude into the fat ball gag.

  ‘The van is waiting at the rear entrance. The driver will take you to your own transport, at the edge of the wood. It will be 24 hours before the truth becomes apparent. I will make sure of that. By then, Annette will be the ideal plaything for Christina and Anne will be dancing for her new master.’

  Aunt Jane and Ms Blakemore embrace and then exchange a long passionate kiss. Then Myriam and I, still tethered, gagged and sealed tightly in erotic Senso rubber (but with our ankles and knees freed), are led by Aunt Jane and Justine from the room. I take one last look at the wiggling figure of Annette and feel an awful sense of sadistic pleasure. How I wish I could see her face when she beholds her new body before the tall merciless mirror that dominates the room she shares with Christina.

  We are led via the back stairs to the deserted kitchen and through a back door to a waiting people carrier. Myriam and I are put into the rear storage space, lying sideways face to face, our buxom forms pressed tightly together. A black silk sheet is pulled over our bodies and the rear door is slammed shut. I hear Aunt Jane and Justine exchange words with the driver and recognise the soft North American tones of Master Bentley. Then the van is moving, slowly, over the gravel of the large tree-surrounded forecourt of the mansion house.

  I feel Myriam’s body against mine and moan with relief and a dreadful aching pleasure. Her response is a gentle whimper of desire. As the van disappears into the woods, I wonder what the future holds. We will be on the run, pursued by the relentless radical forces of the Bigger Picture. They will wish us nothing but harm. The strange adventure that is tomorrow explodes before me in the intimate darkness. My rubber-sheathed nipples brush against Myriam’s and we both moan with a cosmic desire. Then I know the future is nothing, just as the past is irrelevant. All that matters is the glorious immediacy of sexual desire and physical arousal, the sweet and endless torment of our beloved silken servitude.

  To be continued.

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  Epub ISBN 9780753533673

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  This book is a work of fiction.

  In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.

  First published in 2005 by

  Nexus

  Thames Wharf Studios

  Rainville Rd

  London W6 9HA

  Copyright Christina Shelly 2005

  The right of Christina Shelly to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  ISBN 9780352340047

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.