Using the lengths of ribbon, the women tightly bound our already immobilised legs at the ankles and knees, securing each length of ribbon with a gloriously fat sissy bow. This delicate sissy binding was then repeated on our arms, which were forced behind our backs and tethered at the wrists and elbows.
We squirmed with masochistic pleasure as we were tautly secured and made so sensually helpless, our sexes staring up at us with a crimson desperation.
Once satisfied that we were appropriately bound, our mistresses set about positioning us on the bed. I was laid out with my head towards the foot of the bed and poor, moaning Pansy was set down with her head towards the top. Thus we soon found ourselves staring directly at the lovely bow that bound each other’s ankles.
A further ribbon was then attached, a ribbon to connect us together, a ribbon that was teasingly wrapped around my balls and bound in place with another bow, a ribbon with a long length of slack which was pulled over to Pansy’s own bulging balls and then secured in exactly the same way, leaving a length of ribbon of about three feet between us.
Our mistresses then stepped back to admire their kinky handiwork as we squealed and wiggled on the bed.
‘A very pretty picture,’ Aunt Jane purred.
‘Quite lovely,’ Ms Hartley agreed.
Then our stunning, all powerful mistresses slowly removed the dummy gags and our mouths were unstopped for the first time in three weeks. We gasped our gratitude, but didn’t say a word.
‘We’ll be back at 7 a.m., as usual. Until then, you are free to enjoy the privilege of speech and the pleasure of your unrestrained cocks.’
The two women, laughing cruelly to themselves then left us, as they had on so many other occasions, flicking off the bedroom light and plunging us into darkness, and then closing and locking the door.
At first, there was just an awful silence broken only by our sex-sped breathing. Then, the weak, desperate voice of Pansy.
‘Please, Shelly, oh please help me.’
A voice cut through with a most awful sexual frustration.
‘I can’t, I’m tied too,’ I whispered, confused by the darkness. ‘There’s no way I can get free.’
‘No,’ came the soft, almost unrecognisable voice, ‘I don’t want to be untied. I want to be…relieved. I can’t stand it much longer…the pain of this…desire.’
I smiled into the darkness, but did not reply. Instead I began a strange dance of sissy wiggles and gradually moved my body further up the bed so that my face was where I suspected my sissy lover’s cock would be. As I waffled and shuffled, the slack on the ribbon binding our balls tightened to the extent that I soon found I could only move so far before the ribbon tightened painfully around my bulging testicles and made any further movement impossible – a quite deliberate strategy to ensure that we remained unable to meet face to face.
Then I moved forward and gasped with shock as Pansy’s hard long cock collided with my forehead. I wiggled downwards slightly and leant forward. The cock brushed against my cheek and poor Pansy let out a wild wail of sexual need.
Just before I took her sex in my mouth, I whispered a simple but perhaps strange instruction. ‘Suck my feet.’
‘What!?’ Pansy responded, appalled.
‘While I suck you off – kiss and suck my feet. I want you to do this while I pleasure you…please.’
A pause, then a weak ‘OK’.
I moved closer and brushed my lips against the tip of her hot, hard cock, making sure as I did so that my own feet were positioned near Pansy’s face.
She squealed again and then let out a cry of deep, dark pleasure as I slipped my lips over the hot, hard and very salty flesh. A sense of deep contentment gripped me as I reacquainted myself with Pansy’s substantial sex organ. The furious, fundamental pleasure that had been present when I had taken Dominic in the storage cupboard was now a much lighter and more feminine pleasure in bringing my lover physical joy. As her cock pulsed and twitched in my mouth, I knew this was the most intimate of communications, the deepest and greatest of confessions. And as I had asked, Pansy, her moans growing louder, then moved her head forward and found my hosed feet and began to cover them in light sissy kisses in between her own increasingly desperate squeals of pleasure.
She exploded very soon after, her squeals becoming loud cries of ecstasy, a hard slick of cum pumping deep into my willing mouth as her body shuddered with a dreadful black passion on the bed, a cum I drank with pleasure, a strange, salty nectar whose consumption proved both my desire and, in a way I was only slowly coming to realise, my love.
Then, with her cum trickling helplessly from my soft sissy lips, I pulled myself free from Pansy’s deflated cock and began to move my own sex closer to her face.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ I whispered, my own titanic need made more than apparent by the hoarse sex edge in my voice.
There was silence, a distinctly painful silence. I felt Pansy’s body stiffen, I felt her fear and her loathing, and a terrible sadness washed over me.
‘Please,’ I begged.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I’m…not like that.’
The taste of her filled my mouth, the smell of her tormented my nostrils. In our tightly tied sleep sacks we had shared this bed for three weeks, each day we had slaved for our mistresses, met their every need with a deep masochistic joy. During this time we had exchanged so many fleeting looks of what I thought was a mutual desire. But now I was confronting a terrible possibility: that Pansy did not share my desire, that the conversion she had demonstrated in the early days of our mutual sissification had been an act, a lie.
I tried to withstand a sudden, violent disappointment and its inevitable impact, but within minutes I was sobbing loudly, tears of betrayal and loneliness flooding from my eyes. Trapped in this most intimate and erotic of bondage torments, the perfect context for a long and loving expression of our sissy desire, I now found myself cast paradoxically adrift on a sea of black, bottomless isolation.
Then Pansy’s quivering voice returned from the depths of the darkness.
‘Don’t cry, Shelly. Please don’t cry.’
But I couldn’t control myself, and the tears only flowed in even greater profusion, inspired by my terrible sexual need and a genuine sense of betrayal. But then I felt a movement, a sharp tug on my ribboned testicles. Pansy was moving, slowly, unsure of herself, but definitely moving towards me. I adjusted my position to allow her to move closer. Then I felt her face brush against my rigid, desperate cock and I let out a sissy moan of helpless pleasure.
‘Oh God, Pansy. Please help me. I can’t stand it much longer. Please!’
Her velvet soft lips brushed tentatively against the tip of my cock and I gasped. Impatient need vibrated through every pore of my body. Then a kiss, a light, careful kiss on the side of my rigid sex shaft. Then a tongue, her long, wet tongue licking me. Then her tongue running hesitantly over my balls. Then more licking of my cock, much more confident now. I screamed my pleasure and begged her to suck me off. Then nothing, a sudden and terrible period of sickening hesitation. I listened to her hard, heavy, and quite clearly aroused breathing. Then, suddenly, she had me, her mouth taking hold of my cock in a brutal instant of stunning pleasure and moving forward so that it slipped deep inside her. I squealed with grateful pleasure. I was eighteen. I was a virgin. Besides my deeply erotic encounters with Lady Ashcroft, Aunt Jane and Dominic/Pansy, I had never experienced what might be described as a sexual encounter where I was the recipient (so to speak). As Pansy somewhat tentatively and then more confidently sucked on my sex, I felt a tremendous physical pleasure and a sudden rush of blissful erotic energy. I wiggled in my pretty sissy bondage, stretching my slender, tightly tethered form against the soft, sheer nylon and the surprisingly rigid knots at the heart of the fat silk bows. I felt the teasing anal plug burrow deeper into me as I pushed my thighs together to allow Pansy less-obstructed access to my sex. She replied by tickling the base of my cock with her tongue. Then
it was as if I had walked through a sheet of sex glass, exploded through a film of desire into a new realm, a realm of orgasmic power that left me screaming Pansy’s name over and over and over. As I came, as I exploded into her mouth, I felt her both pull away and fight to stay in position, now desperate to prove herself as my she-male lover and to drink every last drop of my most intimate offering.
Then I felt her pull away, leaving me ecstatically drained, my heart pumping, my mouth gasping for lungfuls of sex-perfumed air. Then there was a period of unconsciousness, a strange pit of dreamless sleep that might have been five minutes or two hours, but when I awoke it was to the sound of Pansy’s voice, to the sound of her confession of true desire, of her ultimately bisexual and deeply transvestite nature. She apologised to me, she declared her helpless desire for me; and then, gently, with a true sissy embarrassment, her love both for her ultra-feminisation and for me. And, inevitably, I reciprocated, confessing my own love, my own desire, my own helpless need for this strange sissified bondage.
And for the next hour, in this total darkness, we found a beautiful enlightenment. Moving closer, so that our tethered, nylon-sheathed forms were rubbing erotically together, everything was said that needed to be said. A true and absolute confession that would both solder our relationship very tightly together and also ensure our absolute acceptance of the strange adventure that was to follow.
We discussed the clothes we were forced to wear, the beauty and sensual cruelty of our mistresses, the masochistic ecstasy of our bondage, the coming tests of the SMC training academy. We discussed SMC in more detail, our deep and mutual attraction, the mysterious and very beautiful Christina; the incredible fact that we too would eventually have large, shapely and ultra-sensitive breasts!
Yes, in this darkness, we consolidated every second of the previous few months into a coherent vision of our joint sissy future. Then, having driven ourselves quite mad with our erotic discourse, we voluntarily gagged ourselves with our hard, hungry sexes, teasing each other to joyous orgasms before falling, in the early hours, into a sweet, deep and very contented sleep.
Seven
The next morning we were dragged from blissful unconsciousness by our mistresses, placed back into our terrible, deeply erotic restrainers and serving attire, and then returned to our strange and beautiful world of sissy slavery.
For the next two weeks, we worked hard and long for our two gorgeous mistresses, loving every moment of our silken servitude, becoming more feminine and submissive as each hour passed, and progressing inevitably to our entry into the SMC academy.
After our night of glorious oral pleasuring, any doubts that may have been inspiring resistance in Pansy completely disappeared. She become as enthusiastic for her tight and elegant imprisonment in panties and hose as myself, and her sissy masochism was suddenly in full bloom: she endured so many spankings, so many bondage punishments, so many random humiliations at the firm and cruel hands of Ms Hartley, and endured them all with a very obvious sexual arousal. She minced before her mistresses with a spectacular sissy pride and met my helplessly desiring gazing with looks of deep longing. How much we wanted to be allowed to return to an unrestrained state, to experience the infinite pleasures of our sissy forms, to make endless she-male love. But this was impossible: each night we were tightly secured into the silken sleep sacks, our mouths filled with our mistresses’ soiled panties, our lips sealed with thick tape, our tethered forms pressing together but unable to experience the physical joy of that so amazing night. Yet even the restraint of our desires was deeply erotic, and as we were prepared for bed, as our mouths were teasingly filled with the day’s sex-stained panties, as the sweet tastes and aromas of our beautiful mistresses’ most intimate regions possessed us, we were lost in a pungent heaven of submissive sexual excitement. And in this excitement was the brutal truth of the Bigger Picture: our male desire turned inward, turned against ourselves; a desire used to build the very cage which controlled it. We desired only our control and domination by these beautiful women, and we would both do anything to ensure that the intricate, kinky regime of petticoat punishment they had devised remained securely in place.
Yet, despite the wild lengths that our divine mistresses were prepared to go to, there was still one more acute humiliation to endure before our entry into the SMC training academy.
During the weeks we had been serving Aunt Jane and Ms Hartley, both as domestic servants and tightly restrained but always eager sex slaves, we had remained within the house at all times. As our submission and femininity had progressed, the two gorgeous women seemed to cut us off from the outside world completely, and to focus our sissy minds on only one thing: feminised servitude. We accepted this isolation willingly, finding all the pleasure and stimulation we needed in our mistresses and each other, and in our increasingly intricate sissy attire and our twelve hours a day of hard, kinky domestic labour. Our only contact with the outside word had been the computer, a device which our mistresses insisted we used to explore the whole wide world of cross-dressing and sadomasochism. We eagerly focused our attentions on Christina’s Silken Slavery, becoming very intimate with all of the slaves through their wonderful images and the narratives of domination they played out. But we also found many other sites of interest and arousal, sites devoted to cross-dressing, to sissification, to infantilism (a joy we were yet truly to experience), and to bondage. Very quickly, we became quite addicted to the hour we were allowed each evening to explore the sensual joys of the internet.
But then something long forgotten returned: our final examinations. We were given less than twenty-four hours’ notice of the first test, and worse, it was made clear that they were to be taken at the school, in a private room, in the evening. Also, the examinations would be spread over three days, and each session would be supervised by the headmistress, Mrs Henrietta Blunt and her two daughters, both fellow pupils of the school!
A squeal of horror escaped my fat dummy gag as Aunt Jane teasingly announced this last terrible fact.
‘Oh yes, Juliette and Daphne will be there. And I’m sure they’ll be very impressed, especially Juliette.’
Juliette Blunt. A girl who had even invited me to her birthday party (I had been too shy/scared to attend), and had also visited my home to help me with a homework assignment (much to the obvious and perhaps strange concern of my aunt, who had quite actively discouraged me from seeing her again). A beautiful, sweet-natured girl. The almost exact opposite of her sister, Justine. Justine, the mocking, cruel firebrand; a feared and admired figure, and very much a member of the school’s senior ‘in crowd’.
Both girls were tall blondes, very good at athletics (Juliette was a county champion swimmer), very popular with the boys (although neither had or seemed to want a boyfriend). Both were very clever, and it was thought that, whereas Pansy (when Dominic) was one of the brightest boys, Juliette was by far the brightest girl; indeed, she had already been offered a provisional place at Cambridge to study Art History.
Now Pansy and I were to be exposed to them. And it was made clear we were to be exposed to them in ‘a very special way’: special costumes, designed by SMC, had been prepared, and would be introduced to us the very next day.
Little sleep was had that night. After another day of hard slog, we were taken to Aunt Jane’s bedroom and made to give our divine mistresses prolonged oral pleasure before being returned to our tight, unyielding sleep sacks. In our sissy bondage, in the all-pervasive blackness, neither of us could sleep. Instead, we pondered the terrible test ahead of us: this was extreme stretching of our deeply feminine masochism
And when we saw the costumes, later the next afternoon, a new level of excited concern washed over our intricately feminised bodies. For before us, in my aunt’s bedroom, were two beautiful, but also outrageously kinky schoolgirl uniforms!
First there were the gymslips, each of which was made from a most unusual rubber-like material. Each had a very short, pleated skirt and blazoned onto the chest sectio
ns were our names in the now very familiar SMC handwritten style. Besides the sexy gymslip, there was a white silk blouse, a pink tie that seemed to be made from the same strange material as the gymslip, a pair of white rubber panties, a pair of white nylon, seamed tights, and a pair of pink patent leather, five-inch, stiletto heeled court shoes.
‘Now isn’t this a big improvement on that stuffy old male uniform,’ Ms Hartley said, a cruel smile lighting up her beautiful face.
‘I’m sure Juliette will agree,’ Aunt Jane teased mercilessly.
It took our gorgeous, wicked mistresses thirty minutes to get us stripped down to our restainers and mini-corsets and then imprisoned in the outfits. And by the time we were fully attired, both of us were in a state of heightened sexual arousal cut through with a deep concern about the coming exhibition before the Blunt sisters.
We were then led before the tall full-length mirror inside my aunt’s cavernous walk-in wardrobe and made to behold the spectacle created by this latest costume of sissification. We stared at our reflections with a now quite familiar mixture of fascination, confusion and powerful desire. We also stared at each other and felt an equally familiar and deep attraction. Pansy looked particularly striking in the tight rubber-like gymslip that very nearly but not quite reached over her white rubber panties, and through which her very substantial, if tightly restrained erection was more than apparent, with even the curved edges of the tight, cruel metal rings clearly outlined against the smooth, second skin.
But our visual pleasure was quickly becoming secondary to a deeper sensual stimulation: the tactile impact of the strange rubber material from which both the dainty gymslip and the tight white panties were fashioned. This odd, mutant fabric, somewhere between the mummifying purity of rubber and the sheer, gentle imprisonment of nylon, seemed to caress our silky sissy skin in a very particular and deeply exciting manner. Each movement we made inspired a distinctly pleasurable electric kiss from the gymslip, a kiss that quickly became kisses, and then a tormenting cumulative effect that led, perhaps inevitably, to helpless whimpers of pleasure.
Company of Slaves Page 14