She presented the girdle to me and I somewhat apprehensively took it from her. I immediately noticed that, although the girdle was designed to mould and control body shape, it had no bra section. Indeed, as far as the upper torso area was concerned, there was only a tight vestlike structure.
Aunt Jane helped me to step into the girdle and then drew it up over my shaven, powdered form. The first thing I noticed was that it appeared to be at least a size too small. Indeed, its stretchable elastane and rubber material seemed to grasp the contours of my slight frame and subject them to a harsh, unavoidable pressure, almost as if it were attempting to shrink me! I gasped with genuine discomfort as the thick rubber shoulder straps were pulled up and over my arms. My stomach was squeezed even flatter and my poor hips felt like they were in a vice. Worse still, the leg sections of the girdle did not taper off to fit the shape of my hips and upper thighs. Instead they ran straight down like a miniskirt, so that my thighs were squeezed together very tightly, immediately making any but the tiniest of steps impossible!
Yet even this was not the end of the girdle’s tortures. For as soon as it was positioned, my lovely aunt, her eyes filled with what I can only describe as a sadistic glee, began to tie the layers of silk lacing in very tight, bow-shaped knots, pulling in the rubber panelling even more oppressively.
By the time she was finished, I was breathing very heavily, my face was crimson and my eyes wide with an awful, deeply masochistic excitement.
‘The girdle is designed to discipline and control your body, and to improve your posture and movement. You will wear it at home at all times from now on.’
I moaned with a mixture of horror and utter submission, my eyes pinned to the box as my aunt then proceeded to take from within a pair of the most beautiful white silk stockings. I stared at them with a terrible fetishistic excitement and her smile returned.
‘Yes, they’re beautiful. Pure silk, seamed and utterly delicious against smooth sissy skin.’
My erection, now subject to the more robust torments of the body girdle, still managed to stretch hungrily against its formidable elastane prison as my aunt helped me to sit on the bed. As my squeezed bottom rested on the edge of the bed, I felt the girdle exercise an even more terrible restraint and gasped with shock and discomfort. Even worse, it was now utterly impossible to bend forward! I sat bolt upright, imprisoned and tortured, and watched with helpless sexual arousal as my aunt proceeded to kneel down before me and gently guide the delicious stockings up my long, smooth legs. And as the fine, delicate silk covered my freshly resensitised skin, a moan of unbearable pleasure exploded from my mouth. Never had I experienced such supreme and terribly immediate tactile pleasure. Indeed, my moans quickly progressed into sissy squeals as my aunt drew the stockings around my thighs, pulling them tightly into position only a few centimetres from the body girdle’s skirt.
White lace-frilled, elastic garters were used to hold the stockings in place, and once they were fitted I was helped to my feet. Standing was more like being winched into position, my aunt pulling my tightly girdled form up from the bed and then leaving me swaying fearfully before her as she proceeded to extract the next piece of the amazing costume from the box. This turned out to be a pair of pink patent leather boots, with fierce five-inch high heels and white silk ribbon laces. The boots themselves had a long pointed toe, and affixed atop of each toe was a pretty diamond rose.
I looked at the boots in utter astonishment. How, in this terribly restraining body girdle, could I ever walk in those! In the last few weeks, I had had plenty of experience of heels, yet nothing this high, and certainly not under such extreme conditions of body control. Yet my aunt’s smile was now much warmer, and an old-fashioned maternal twinkle crossed her gleaming brown eyes. She returned to her knees, her lower body covered by an erotic curtain of black velvet, her breasts clearly visible in the sensual, lace-edged restraint of her sexy silk brassiere, and then helped me step into the boots. My heart pounded with a very real and unerotic fear as I was subsequently elevated five inches into the air. It was as if I was suddenly standing on a very shaky and tall wooden chair that threatened to give way at any moment. I felt my ankles wobble and my whole, tightly restrained body sway. A tear of terror trickled down my right cheek.
‘I know you’re frightened, my love,’ Aunt Jane whispered, her voice coated with a sweet nectar of concern. ‘But this is all about balance, about the unity of opposites. The girdle and the boots will work together if you are prepared to let them. Now, step forward.’
I looked at her with an awful, bottomless fear. She smiled and took my hand.
‘Step forwards,’ she repeated, her wide, mysterious eyes injecting me with beams of love and reassurance.
I smiled weakly and took one terrible step forward, a step for sissikind into the inescapable realm of my enslaved future. Not a step really: more a desperate totter, a tiny sissy mince. Yet, as my aunt had predicted, the combination of deadly heels and the body girdle seemed to fuse together in the style of movement they both demanded, and within a few strange seconds I had crossed the barrier of fear and justified trepidation into a world of mysterious feminine balance. My crushed hips wiggled, my girdled bottom bounced. My arms instinctively fell to my sides, my hands tilted upwards. My silken thighs rubbed together and I purred with a new pleasure, a pleasure born in the swelling both of my paradoxical manhood and my pride at being able to break through to this new level of ultra-feminine grace. Fear died and confidence was reborn. I turned to my aunt and smiled shyly. She returned the smile and clapped.
‘Perfect,’ she whispered. ‘Just perfect.’
She led me to the dressing table and set to work on my make-up. At first I was disappointed not to be allowed to do my own make-up, but then I watched her take a very large jar of white cream from the box on the bed and knew this transformation was to be a particularly unusual one. Indeed, as she placed the jar down on the table before me, her breasts brushing so terribly against my shoulder, she began to explain the vision that was to celebrate her birthday.
‘You know how I love you to look as ambiguous as possible, Shelly.’
I nodded warily as she unscrewed the jar’s silver cap.
‘Well, today I want to take that ambiguity a step further. Today I want to transform you into a beautiful sissy doll given sudden, startling life.’
She took a large globule of the cream from the jar with the long, elegant fingers of her right hand and began to spread it across my cheeks and neck.
My aunt’s interest in developing the theme of my sissification over the last few weeks towards a much more girlish, even babified extreme had been obvious and often disturbing. Now, finally, it was being fully revealed. As the white foundation was spread over my face and neck, I saw in the dressing table’s beautiful oval mirror the beginnings of a strange living doll, a creature created for the entertainment of my aunt and her female friends. A terrible vision of the next few hours passed before my eyes and I felt my stomach turn with a dreadful, inescapable fear, a fear that seemed to lodge deep in my anus and then spread up between my stockinged thighs to torment my imprisoned erection, a torment that only added to its bound fury.
Soon my face and neck were covered in a mysterious white mask. Then my lips were painted a bright, very hot pink and two carefully crafted circles of a lighter pink rouge were applied to my alabaster cheeks. As my gorgeous, determined aunt worked on her latest bizarre creation, her perfume, mixed with a tangy hint of her most intimate sweat, tormented my nostrils, and her silk-sheathed breasts continued to perhaps inadvertently caress my shoulder and, on one or two incredibly exciting moments, my painted cheeks. As the lipstick spread over my pouting, soft lips, as the rouge stick glided so very delicately over my cheeks, as a light pink eye shadow was carefully spread over my helplessly fluttering eyelids, I was lost in a sweet sissy heaven whose goddess was my stunning Aunt Jane.
And, eventually, I found myself confronting the strangely beautiful form of a she-
male mannequin, a china doll with short, delicately curled blonde locks and wide, desire-stained sky-blue eyes, her lips helplessly curved into a teasing O of furious sexual need.
My aunt stood behind me, her hands on my smooth shoulders, and also beheld the picture of sissy perfection that was staring out at her from the mirror.
‘Excellent,’ she whispered, ‘just what I wanted.’
Then she covered my neck and upper body in a sweet cloud of heady musk perfume and led me back to the bed, where the very large pink box sat, awaiting a further revelation of its delicious secrets. As I tottered behind her in the impossibly high heels, my hips swaying, my bottom wiggling helplessly, my eyes feasted on her own substantial backside pressing so teasingly against the black velvet material of the skirt and I fought a moan of terrible pleasure. Now, more than ever, I was truly lost in the dark erotic fascination of my increasingly sissified and submissive feminisation, and the deeper I was led into the caverns of my own masochism, the more willing a slave to this beautiful woman I became.
As I gasped against the pressure of the body girdle, Aunt Jane helped me to totter to a halt before the bed and then, as I watched in amazement, produced the pièce de résistance of this particular stage of my feminisation. From within the box she took an astonishing dress made from glistening pink satin, an intricately designed, little girl’s party frock cut to fit a young man of exactly my build.
Heavily edged with white lace frilling at the fat, puffed sleeves, very short skirt and high, white pearl, button-up neck, the dress was covered in an elaborate pattern of darker pink silk roses, and beneath the skirt billowed a positive hurricane of white frou-frou petticoating.
My prettily painted lips parted in an idiot gasp of total shock and my poor, tightly girdled cock struggled in its sweet feminine bondage.
‘Yes,’ my aunt purred, her voice thick with sex. ‘It’s really quite amazing. And I had it designed especially to glorify my lovely sissy pet.’
She displayed the dress before me like a miracle cure, displaying its long back panel of white pearl buttons and fluffing up its spectacular petticoats with a child’s teasing glee.
Then she held the dress open and I tottered fearfully, desperately, hungrily forward, my silk-sheathed thighs rubbing together, creating a sizzling sex friction that sent pulses of desire charging through my sissified form.
She pulled the dress up my delicately stockinged legs and I whimpered with delight, wiggling my bottom pleadingly, my eyes begging for an eternity of this and nothing more.
As she buttoned the dress up, her elegant, agile fingers slipping ten pearl buttons through silk-lined eyes, I felt this marvellous frock envelop me in a hug of welcome and I positively swooned with a terrible masochistic pleasure. And after the back came the neck, five more buttons that left the frilled edges of the collar tickling my snow-white chin, a permanent reminder of my strict and inescapable sissification.
‘You look quite stunning, Shelly. Fabulous.’
I smiled weakly and swallowed hard, surrendering to my fate with a dark, addictive joy.
Yet even though the highlight of this latest dressing had been revealed, it was not the end of my transformation. For next out of the box came a lovely white silk pinafore trimmed with more delicate lace frills, a pinafore that was slipped over my head with a renewed smile of teasing promise and then tied in place at the base of my back in a huge sissy bow. And as I revelled in this supreme symbol of feminine servitude, my aunt produced a pair of gleaming white lace gloves and proceeded to slowly slip them over my small, dollish hands. The gloves were fitted with tiny white pearl buttons which she secured in place with a calm, erotic deliberation as I stared desperately at her large, swelling breasts.
The dressing finally complete, she led me from my room, down the corridor and into her own plush bedroom. It was here that I was allowed to see the true nature of my transformation, here that I confronted the frightening, deeply perverse and incredibly sexy power of my aunt’s imagination. Standing before the full-length mirror that stood by the walk-in closet, I beheld a diminutive sissy maid, a surprisingly shapely, if obviously boyish she-male doll, a slender, petite beauty created by the stately and very beautiful woman who stood proudly beside her.
I gasped in utter amazement and my aunt’s dazzling smile lit the room with the piercing light of an absolute triumph.
‘Yes, Shelly, you’re quite perfect. Isn’t it lovely?’
I could only nod in shock, in stunned, mind-numbing shock. This is what I had become: in a just a few incredible weeks, I had been transformed from a bullied, confused youth into…this.
It had taken perhaps ninety minutes to reach this final stage of exact sissification. Yet my aunt insisted we spend nearly another hour practising walking in the troubling heels and also, to my surprise (and secret delight!) practising a deep curtsey, a gesture of absolute submission that perfectly complemented my sissy attire, a gesture that involved pulling up my petticoats and lowering my knees, to such an extent that my heavily frilled silk panties were very clearly displayed; an act of exquisite humiliation that sent fresh shudders of erotic joy coursing through my feminised body.
‘You will curtsey before each of the guests as you greet them, and later, as you serve them. From now on, you will also curtsey before me both as a sign of understanding and as a gesture of greeting. Do you understand?’
I was about to say ‘yes’ when the ice-cold fire at the centre of her dark brown eyes flared briefly and I found myself producing the deepest curtsey yet. She laughed and clapped her hands like a little girl, her laugh becoming a giggle, then a strange, aroused sigh.
‘Yes…you do understand, my sweet Shelly!’
She then rushed forward and embraced me, pulling my painted face into her large, loving breasts and nearly pulling me off my feet. As she released me, a moan of terrible, deeply masochistic pleasure escaped my pink lips. This was truly a most wondrous dream!
Three
The first guest arrived just before lunch. I had spent the morning helping my aunt prepare and set out a splendid cold buffet lunch in the large, glass-domed conservatory that looked out onto the beautifully maintained back garden.
My heart jumped with fear and excitement when the doorbell suddenly rang through the house. Before I could even think of running out into the garden in blind sissy terror, Aunt Jane grasped a lace-gloved hand and led me down the hallway. I very nearly passed out as my aunt opened the door. I was soaked in a powerful beam of early afternoon sunlight and also momentarily blinded. At first all I could sense was the gasp of exaggerated delight and the voice, the light, cultured voice of Marie Gillette, my aunt’s agent and friend of over twenty years.
‘My God! It’s true! I’m utterly amazed! And he’s so beautiful! So dainty. What an absolute darling!’
The dark form in the doorway then stepped into the pool of light and I found myself confronted directly by the impressive form of Miss Marie Gillette.
Almost instinctively, I performed a curtsey and she burst into surprised laughter.
‘Oh my God! How utterly delightful!’
My aunt led Miss Gillette into the living room and I tottered along behind them, blushing furiously, but also helplessly aroused. This new humiliation was the most potent form of sexual stimulation, and even as Miss Gillette repeatedly turned to look down at me with wide, stunned, helplessly teasing eyes, my cock was struggling angrily in its tight girdle prison, begging for a terrible, black release whose point was simply a sweet, brief oblivion.
Marie Gillette was perhaps forty-five or forty-six, a little older than my aunt, yet still a very beautiful woman. A blue-eyed blonde, she wore her obviously long and thick hair in a loose bun held in place by a pale blue silk ribbon. She also wore a black leather jacket, a matching black nylon sweater, a black leather miniskirt, black tights and stiletto-heeled court shoes. The sweater very obviously displayed large, admirably firm breasts, and the miniskirt and tights very deliberately exhibited a pair o
f long, statuesque legs. This was a particularly well-preserved woman and she was very keen to make sure as many people as possible knew it.
‘You look great, Marie. As ever.’
Miss Gillette smiled weakly at my aunt’s sincere compliment and took a pack of cigarettes from her black leather handbag. She took one of the long, gold-tipped tobacco sticks from the pack and ignited it with an elegant silver lighter before twirling around rather melodramatically to face me.
‘It really is quite remarkable, Janey. At first I thought you were taking the piss. But this…well, unbelievable, amazing…fucking amazing!’
She bent down to get a better look at me.
‘This dress is sooo cute. I love it. And the hair, and the make-up. So perfect. Your very own living doll! What a hoot!’
I stared at this beautiful, flamboyant woman in amazement. I had never met her in the flesh, but seen enough photographs of her together with my aunt to know the two had once been very close.
It had been a feature of my life with Aunt Jane that she had rarely invited her many friends down to the house. This, as she had so very often put it, was ‘her escape from the world’. And now the world had come to visit.
My aunt led Miss Gillette out of the living room and into the conservatory. Here, I served them both a glass of wine with dainty care and grace, Miss Gillette’s eyes never leaving my petite sissy form as I tottered about my maid’s business.
‘You say he actually likes all this?’ Miss Gillette asked, her eyes covered by a glaze of sexual fascination.
Company of Slaves Page 4