Company of Slaves

by Christina Shelly

  Then, beneath this, two more roses appeared, one white and one pink. Beneath the white rose was the word Exit, beneath the pink rose, the word Enter, both in the same, elegant handwritten style.

  Pansy moved the cursor to Enter and pressed the mouse. The web page dissolved before our eyes to be replaced with a window designed in the shape of the pink rose requesting a username and password. Pansy very carefully typed in the information on the card and, after a tense pause, a new page opened, a page that inspired gagged gasps of shock and pleasure. For before us was the same very beautiful woman. But now she had been stripped down to a very tight white leather basque, plus the stockings and heels. She was wearing shoulder-length white opera gloves. Her elegant, sexy shoes had been removed. She was kneeling. A very large pink rubber ball gag was strapped tightly into her mouth; her arms pulled behind her back and bound brutally with pink rubber-coated cording at her wrists and above and below her elbows. Her legs were also bound with the cording – at the ankles, above and below the knees and at the thighs. But, despite this shocking and beautiful display of expert bondage, this was not the reason we were surprised. The inspiration for our gasps was the simple fact that rising out of a befrilled, circular area at the crotch of the basque was a large, sheer pink nylon-encased cock locked tightly in the three silver rings that were the SMC symbol of sissy slavery.

  This was Christina, and this, it seemed was Christina’s website. This stunning creature, whose large and apparently very real breasts strained furiously against the bra section of the basque, was a she-male; incredibly beautiful, totally convincing. A vision of gender ambiguity that left the two of us panting with pleasure.

  Running along the curving length of the basque was a further series of tiny pink roses, and by each rose was a title: Galleries; Video; Christina’s Confessions; Christina; Links; My Friends; Shop; SMC.

  The quality of the photography and web design was incredibly high. This was a very professional and no doubt expensive site, and it was clear from the home page that members were asked to pay a significant monthly subscription for the privilege of access.

  Poor Pansy’s hand was shaking quite badly as she used the mouse to move the cursor over ‘Galleries’. She clicked on the rose and a series of small ‘thumbnail’ pictures emerged, each a link to another page. Each picture showed what appeared to be a beautiful female, and beneath, in the same elegant handwriting, was a name. There was another picture of Christina, dressed in a beautiful black maid’s dress and kneeling before a gorgeous, imperial woman, then other named pictures – Annette, Myriam, Lucy, Kathy, Alice, Betty, Candy, Honey, Prissy.

  Pansy clicked on the picture of Christina and we found ourselves confronted with a further series of some twenty-odd thumbnails, each of which opened onto a fifty-picture gallery. Each thumbnail was the doorway to a themed set of pictures, each depicting a strange, erotic and deeply sadomasochistic narrative. It took us nearly an hour just to work our way through Christina’s galleries, an hour that left us both intensely aroused and amazed by the professional detail of the photographs.

  Before us was a world of dark desire and intricate ritual, a world in which Christina was the beautiful, tormented object of the wicked plans of both women and men. Here was Christina in a sex-teasing array of fetish wear: an endless array of maid’s costumes, all kinds of body-hugging rubber wear, little-girl attire, baby attire; Christina in every kind of mouthwatering bondage – bound with rope, with stockings, with tape; ball-gagged, cleave-gagged; sealed from pretty head to sexy toe in disturbing and exciting mummification, using tape, shrink-wrapping, hose, even surgical bandaging!

  What made these vast, exotic and so detailed scenarios so exciting was that each one was a kinky story, a narrative of a she-male damsel in distress – the sweet, deviant perils of Christina. Christina kidnapped, Christina sold into white slavery, Christina the victim of a kinky lesbian burglar, even Christina captured by a Nazi Dominatrix! Stories that were made so much more effective by the quality of the acting: in each frame, sweet, sexy Christina evinced a very realistic and arousing distress, her wide, pretty eyes pleading desperately, her tethered form secured with a convincing tautness that made it clear there really was NO ESCAPE. Then, there were her tormentors. We counted at least three women. Mostly, there was a stunning, mature brunette, with the stature and manner of a true mistress. Then there was a very beautiful, petite and yet buxom blonde and a tall, elegant, cruel-eyed redhead. There were also two men: a tall, muscular and very handsome black man, and a lean, bearded and strikingly blue-eyed blond with a black rose tattoo on his left shoulder.

  These men and women appeared in both Christina’s galleries and in many of the others. Even more startling was the fact that it wasn’t just she-males undergoing the rigours of bondage and humiliation: it was very obvious that three of the gallery slaves, Myriam, Lucy and Kathy, were real women, very attractive and obviously very submissive. These women were also involved in various sadomasochistic encounters of a highly erotic and graphic lesbian nature, and most of them featured the imperial brunette as the dominant partner.

  After ninety minutes of uninterrupted browsing, both Pansy and I were in a terrible state of sexual excitation and furious physical frustration. We had only touched the outer edges of this incredible site, but what we had seen overwhelmed us, for this was very clearly our own sissy fate.

  It was very obvious from what we had seen, and what we had already been told, that the she-males, men and women in these stunning pictures were associates and employees of the Sissy Maids Company, and that as well as providing specialised she-male and female maidservants, the company also used its staff in the production of very high quality, mainly sadomasochistic erotica.

  We were about to explore the site further when my aunt entered the room and ordered us back to work. We were forced to spend the afternoon engaged in the most erotic and testing of our many chores: the washing of our mistresses’ clothes. My aunt insisted that all her underthings, including her panties and hose, be hand washed, a demand which Ms Hartley had eagerly adopted, and for three long, teasing hours, our poor sissy minds spinning with images of Christina’s Silken Slavery, our bodies wrapped in long pink rubber aprons, we laboured at the large washing sink in the basement, overwhelmed by the sensual perfume of our mistresses’ soiled panties and trapped deep inside the cosmic black hole of an endless desire.

  That evening, after dinner, we were permitted to return to our bedroom and resume our study of the website. We became very familiar with the various employees of the Sissy Maids Company, she-male and female, although the men and women who controlled these gorgeous slaves, the masters and beautiful mistresses, remained teasingly anonymous. We also became familiar with the other services SMC offered. It quickly became clear that a number of the sets of photographs were very high-quality stills taken from video shoots, and that the company offered a surprisingly large range of videos and DVDs depicting the exciting adventures of these lovely slaves and their beautiful owners. Even more excitingly, the site also offered exceptionally well-transferred streamed video clips from the videos, and we were able to add sissy sound to our stunned sissy vision and watch live-action manifestations of the powerful sado-erotic philosophy that was at the very heart of SMC.

  The videos were available to buy via the site’s elaborate shop area, which also included a vast section dedicated to ‘Christina’s Sissy Fashions’. Here we discovered a huge virtual clothing store that specialised in the most daring and intricate sissy maid attire. There were maid dresses of satin, silk and rubber, of every colour and apparently endless types, pinafores, a vast array of foundation wear, a sweet, sensual jungle of delicate sissy undies, an ocean of hose of every sexy description; there were too many types of erotic footwear to mention, a whole store of fetishistic shoes that left as both quite stunned. There were also beautifully designed bondage wear and associated equipment, page after amazing page. There was a make-up section, a wig section, a whole mini-site on how to dr
ess and use make-up (all written in the first person by Christina herself).

  Then there was the link back to the Sissy Maids Company. The link led through to the now familiar pink rose, but this time filling the whole of the page. At the heart of the rose was an elegant handwritten logo, the letters SMC intertwined like the tendrils of a rose bush in blood-red lettering. At the bottom of the page were the words: Welcome to the Sissy Maids Company; and beneath this a single black square with an elegant red E at its centre.

  Pansy pressed the E and we entered the strange, almost unbelievable world of silken slavery that was the Sissy Maids Company, a vision of servitude for the modern age. The Company’s philosophy was spelt out on the opening page by its Chief Executive, Ms Helen Blaine. A picture of Ms Blaine in the far right-hand corner of the page revealed her to be the strikingly beautiful brunette who had featured as the impressive dominatrix in so many of Christina’s ultra-kinky adventures.

  The Company was described as a service for dominant women requiring sissy and female slaves highly trained in the domestic and sexual arts. It was discreet and expensive, and built on the high quality of its slaves and the loyalty of its customers. The tone was far from commercial; rather, the opening page was a mission statement or manifesto that encouraged not only those already with a dominant leaning, but those who had only dreamt of ‘taking control’; a manifesto that quite clearly linked to the openly political agenda of the Bigger Picture (there was a link at the bottom of the page to the official Bigger Picture website). Yet this was no hardline feminist manifesto. Although it was clear SMC was dedicated to the dominance of the female and the subjugation of the male, it was also very apparent that the path to freedom set out in the manifesto was a distinctly erotic one, a politics of female and male desire based on a sado-erotic authoritarianism built on power rather than gender. Thus, it offered lesbian dominants the chance to experience the joys of female as well as male slaves, and sought to affirm ‘all sexualities that seek to combine power and pleasure’. Put simply: a sado-masochistic philosophy of power and liberation.

  Each of the sissy and female slaves shown in such exciting detail on Christina’s site were here presented as servants for hire in simple sexy, but clearly formal displays, designed to present merchandise rather than titillate. It was possible to apply for the services of any of these slaves for a very considerable per day price, but only after a very careful vetting process that involved a full background check and interview. The price and the complexity of receiving the services of a sissy maid were clearly designed to ensure that only the most genuine of mistresses succeeded in their applications.

  We were about to explore deeper inside the SMC site when Aunt Jane and Ms Hartley returned to the room. We automatically leapt to our high-heeled feet and performed deep, submissive curtsies before our wondrous, mysterious mistresses. My aunt was carrying a silk bag which I knew was filled with the latest teasing sissy wear, and which I now knew had been manufactured, like all of our sissy clothing, by SMC.

  ‘We’ve let you have a little taste of your fate, my pretties,’ my aunt announced, throwing the bag down on the bed. ‘If you behave yourselves, you can surf the net again, but now its bedtime, and tonight, seeing how well behaved you’ve been over the past few weeks, we’ve got a very, very special treat for you.’

  Ms Hartley then unzipped the long, rectangular bag and from inside produced what initially looked like two more of the sexy, teasing pink nylon body stockings. However, once one of the stockings had been held up before us by the stern, cruel-eyed beauty, it quickly became apparent these were of a very special and kinky design. Firstly, there was only one leg section. Secondly, there was a lace-edged hole placed directly across the crotch section.

  ‘Very special sleep wear for our pretty little sissies,’ Aunt Jane teased, before ordering us to strip down to our restrainers.

  We looked at each other, moaned helplessly into our fat dummy gags and began to undress.

  ‘It’ll be faster if you undress each other,’ Ms Hartley said, and, with shaking hands, we proceeded to obey her.

  As we fumbled with bows and buttons, with straps and zips, our eyes feasted on our gradually revealed sissy forms. The images of Christina’s Silken Slavery flooded my mind, as did the exciting prospect of my future enslavement. I was to be transformed into a sissy maid, a beautiful, docile utterly subservient she-male, whose only function was to serve her many mistresses in any way they saw fit without question. But not only that: from the many photographs and video clips it was clear that all the SMC she-males had been enhanced physically. Each had the curvaceous forms of sex goddesses, each had very real and very large breasts, and each retained very significant, if somewhat contradictory male sexual organs.

  As I helped a trembling Pansy out of her lovely sissy maid’s dress, as my silk-gloved hands brushed against her silky soft skin, I knew we would both very soon be subject to a most wondrous transformation and my poor, long-tormented sex struggled angrily in its terrible, but so sexy sissy bondage.

  Then we were naked, our clothes in two neat piles on the bed. Our hands behind our backs, our dummy gags still tied tightly in place, we faced our mistresses: Aunt Jane, dressed in a very tight black sweater, a tight black skirt that reached to the middle of her black nylon-sheathed knees, and stiletto-heeled court shoes that sparkled in the room’s orange-tinted electric light; Ms Hartley, dressed in a steel-grey suit consisting of a tight, perfectly cut jacket revealing her still-full, elegant form and a matching skirt reaching to just above her knees; her legs sealed in sheer black nylon tights, her feet delicately imprisoned in her preferred five-inch high, stiletto-heeled, black patent leather mules. Two stunning and very dominant women, the joint queens of this strange realm of absolute domination and submission.

  Aunt Jane then stepped forward.

  ‘You’ve been without release for over three weeks. We’ve watched your suffering, the slow boiling of your sissy desire. We have teased and tormented you. And the more you’ve suffered, the more submissive and feminine you’ve become. And this is the key to your training, my sweets: desire controlled equals desire manipulated and shaped, and a personality created. But seeing that you have both made such good progress – even Pansy, who was obviously rather upset when we first imprisoned her in panties and hose – seeing how well you have reacted to your promised fate…well, it seems only appropriate that you be allowed a night of release. But even this must be on our terms and within the boundaries of restraint and control. So, tonight the restrainers will be removed and you will be allowed to pleasure each other. You will be stockinged and bound, but your cocks will be unleashed and your mouths will be unstopped. You will be allowed one of only two forms of sexual release given to sissy slaves – oral pleasure. Once you have entered the SMC academy, you will be taught the joys of the second kind – anal pleasure. But that too must be earned.’

  She then grasped my rubber-sealed, ringed cock and I squealed with shock and a dark animal pleasure into my fat dummy gag. With her strong rosewood perfume tormenting my nose, my eyes pinned desperately to her full, heavy breasts (the memory of that glorious suckling always ready to come back and fill me with the most terrible, bottomless longing for this gorgeous, divine woman), I could only wiggle and squeal like a little girl as the rings were snapped open and removed. Then she slipped her long, blood-red nails under the tight rubber rim that circled my testicles and gently pulled the restrainer up over my balls and very slowly down the boiling, rock-hard length of my cock. As she pulled the restrainer free, a gasp of almost unbearable relief fought its way past my stopped mouth and my sex popped up before her like some obscene and mocking jack-in-the-box.

  A cruel smile crossed my aunt’s beautiful face. ‘Feel better?’

  I nodded and then curtsied.

  ‘Good,’ she whispered. ‘I suggest you make the most of it, because tomorrow at 7 a.m., you’ll be rubbered and restrained for a period of at least another three weeks.’

 
Ms Hartley then proceeded to perform exactly the same terrible, tormenting act of liberation on poor Pansy’s large, even harder cock, and soon our strange sissy sexes were swaying desperately before our baby-smooth she-male forms and our lovely mistresses were helping us into the teasing, so terribly sexy body stockings.

  We were made to sit on the bed. Then the single leg of the stockings was drawn up our legs, which we had been ordered to keep tightly together. We sighed with a familiar fetishistic pleasure as the soft, very sheer nylon covered our silken skin in what felt like a million sissy kisses. Of all the pleasures of feminine attire, the soft torment of sheer nylon hose on shaven she-male skin would always be my very favourite.

  We were made to stand and the stockings were pulled up over our hips and around our waists. As they were gently dragged up our sissy torsos, our arms were slipped into the long, sensual sleeves, only to discover that neither stocking arm had cuffs, but rather ended in fingerless stocking gloves or mittens.

  Once the stocking was secured, the two women then spent a dreadful few seconds carefully positioning the lace-edged orifices over our rampant sexes, before gently pulling them forward so that they exploded out of the lace-edged circles like bizarre mutant cock flowers.

  We squealed and wiggled and both Ms Hartley and Aunt Jane were forced to administer a series of very sound slaps to our hosed buttocks to calm us down. But, eventually, the tormenting task was completed, and we stood before our gorgeous, smiling mistresses, stockinged and exposed, moaning helplessly into our dummy gags as our rock-hard cocks rose up before us like starved animals begging for food.

  The stockings were very tight, and the single leg effectively made any movement of our own legs impossible. Indeed, we were then forced to hop over to the bed, our cocks bouncing wildly before us, our mistresses playfully slapping our nylon-sheathed bottoms to encourage us forward. Once by the bed, we were ordered to sit down. Then Ms Hartley took a number of lengths of very thick pink silk ribbon from the bag. We watched nervously as she gave four lengths to Aunt Jane. Our beautiful mistresses then began to prepare us for the very strange and deeply erotic night ahead.