‘Senso,’ my aunt whispered, her voice and eyes filled with an impressed fascination at the effect this deeply erotic material was having on our feminised forms. ‘An experimental fabric developed at SMC. The next step in fetish wear, and a vital component in the plans of the Bigger Picture sisterhood.’
We squirmed and fought more aroused, tightly dummy-gagged moans. It was as if our bodies were being teased by the hands of a most expert and deeply kinky masseur.
‘The key,’ Ms Hartley elaborated, her steely eyes observing our increasingly tormented and erotic wiggles with a paradoxical mixture of almost scientific detachment and sadistic amusement, ‘is a chemical reaction between Senso and human skin that leads to a hormonal change and a resultant stimulation of the nervous system. An ingenious idea.’
As we continued to observe our reflections and moan and wiggle, our lovely, imperial mistresses stepped forward on their razor-sharp high heels and used lengths of pink rubber-coated cording to bind our wrists and elbows very tightly together. As our arms were forced behind our backs and bound we squealed with helpless sissy pleasure and stared up at these commanding, divine females, our eyes filled with a deep, submissive love and a bottomless, furious sexual need.
We were then led from the room and, eventually, from the house, guided whimpering out of the front door into the wide driveway, wiggle mincing and moaning, tottering forward on our high heels, our bottoms bouncing, our eyes wide and wild with a fierce and unyielding arousal cut straight down the middle by a terrible apprehension, an apprehension made even worse by the fact that not only were we to be exposed to Juliette and Justine Blunt in this outrageous sissified form, but that our control over our own bodies would be undermined by the mysterious and devastating impact of Senso on our she-male forms.
We were bundled into the back of my aunt’s sleek, white Mercedes, our short gymslip skirts rising up our hosed thighs to expose completely our cock-stretched rubber panties. Then we were driven out of the driveway and down the road towards this newest sexual humiliation, moans of sissy fear and excitement seeping from our phallic dummy-filled mouths.
In the back of the car we continued to wiggle and moan, like two abducted damsels being transported to some terrible, sinister fate. In all the time I had been imprisoned so sweetly in soft feminine frillies, I had never felt so moved and aroused, so intensely and physically stimulated. This was the dramatic measure of the power of Senso.
We arrived at the school a good hour after the rest of the pupils had left for the day. The car was driven to the private car park behind the large school gym. We were then pulled from the car into the late afternoon summer warmth, terrified of this sudden and intimate exposure, knowing how easy it could be for us to be seen, seen and mocked so very terribly by our cruel-eyed contemporaries.
Yet the car park was deserted, and we tottered desperately across the tarmac unmolested by mocking eyes and voices, our gorgeous mistresses inspiring us forward with hard, sharp slaps to our nylon-sheathed upper thighs.
We were led into the rear entrance to the gym, down a brightly lit corridor that stank of disinfectant. Then we were brought to a halt by a grey door marked MEETINGS. Ms Hartley rapped on the door and a frighteningly familiar and authoritative voice snapped ‘Come!’.
Ms Hartley opened the door and ushered us inside, our eyes wide with a now much more extreme fear, our sissy hearts pounding. We tottered into a very well-lit and large room. Three parallel rows of tables had been set out along the length of the room. At the head of the room was a raised area, resting on which was another table. Standing by the table were Mrs Henrietta Blunt and her two beautiful daughters, Justine and Juliette.
The harsh, mocking giggles of the two sisters quickly filled the room with a dreadful taste of what was to come and I tried very desperately to find a hole somewhere in this vast, awful room that was big enough to swallow me up.
We both came to a sudden halt, petrified by a dark, sickening humiliation. Suddenly, I saw my own strange reflection in the mirror of my mind; suddenly, I was just a sad, weak male absurdly costumed by two wicked women, a figure of fun, a freak. Never before had I felt so terribly exposed, so open to the cruel gaze of the world and the people in it.
‘Come forward.’
The harsh tone of Mrs Blunt, a tone that was guaranteed to strike fear into any pupil of this school, the voice of the supreme female authority, a voice we obeyed by tottering forward, our heads down, our countenance that of true, defeated slaves.
The sisters’ giggles lessened as we fearfully approached the raised area.
‘Face your mistresses, girls,’ Aunt Jane snapped, clearly irritated by our silly sissy shyness and also determined to milk our humiliation dry.
With tears in our eyes, we forced ourselves to look up at Mrs Blunt and her two beautiful daughters. Mrs Blunt was in her late forties, a very plump woman, with permanently angry emerald eyes, steel-grey hair always worn in a very tight bun, and thin, hard lips that seemed forced together against their will, as if she were fighting a constant urge to shout. She wore a tweed jacket, a high-necked white silk blouse, complete with a band of silver-grey pearls, a long tweed skirt that reached down to her ankles, black hose and high-heeled court shoes.
Justine and Juliette were a striking comparison: two very attractive girls whose supple, tanned forms emitted the fresh radiance of youth. Justine, at eighteen, was the older, and, it must be said, the more beautiful. They both shared their mother’s height, yet both had slender, shapely figures and striking blonde hair.
Juliette was a little shorter than Justine. She wore her hair very short and was slightly heavier than her sister, with much larger breasts and an extremely pretty face hinting at a future chubbiness. She had sparkling aquamarine eyes and very full, naturally pouting lips that were currently curved into a particularly cruel smile. Dressed in a very tight, pink halter top which revealed a pierced navel sporting a silver ring and a pair of skin-tight white lycra cycle shorts, she was a very impressive sight. Yet even she paled in comparison with her older sister. For Justine was a true beauty, a stunning image of female physical perfection. A good two inches or so taller than her sister, she shared her piercing eyes and full, sensual mouth, but seemed possessed of an inner poise and grace that gave her the disturbing aura of a religious icon or Zen monk. She seemed to stand perfectly still and observe us with an ice-cool gaze of contempt. While her sister couldn’t resist laughing openly at our sissified state, Justine seemed only vaguely interested, although there was absolutely no doubt that her heavenly eyes were fixed well and truly on my own delicately feminised form, a fact that filled me with both excitement and dread. Unlike her sister, she wore her hair long and very straight, a shimmering, flawless coat of gold that spread out over her slender shoulders and down her perfectly shaped back. She wore a tight white sweater that displayed her generous bosom to particularly impressive effect, a very short black leather miniskirt and very sheer black nylon hose. Her feet were clad in black patent leather, high-heeled pumps.
Yes, an amazing vision before which I cowered in sissy awe.
‘Well, I must say this is a big improvement!’ Mrs Blunt boomed, inspiring further laughter from Juliette and even more painful sissy cringes from poor Pansy and myself. ‘Two noisy, scruffy boys turned into pretty pantied sissies. What an excellent idea. And, I must say, you make particularly convincing girls. What a shame we can’t put the whole of the male cohort into panties!’
‘Maybe you will…one day,’ my aunt replied, her voice suitably mysterious.
Personally, I could never recall being either noisy or scruffy, but was in no position to question the accuracy of Mrs Blunt’s rather sweeping statement!
‘They both look so sweet,’ Juliette teased, her eyes eating up a deeply blushing and sobbing Pansy. ‘And so turned on! God…look! Look at his cock!’
As tears of exquisite humiliation trickled down Pansy’s lovely painted face, my own sex continued to fight hard against it delica
te rubber prison and I noticed Justine’s eyes shift slightly to focus on its pained tumescence.
Mrs Blunt scolded her pretty, cruel daughter, but there was a very broad smile on her face as she did so. Aunt Jane then proceeded to explain the bizarre and erotic qualities of Senso, while Ms Hartley led us to two desks at the front of the parallel rows crossing the large room. Here we were untied and, still tightly dummy-gagged, made to sit and confront what I knew was the English Literature A level paper. A pen and an answer book were positioned beside the question paper and my mind suddenly became terribly aware of why we had been dragged here.
Plagued by our sexual need, tormented by the strange and unyielding caress of the Senso fabric, our backsides teased by the kinky plugs thanks to the strict upright position we were required to adopt by the rigid design of the wooden chair and desk, we were soon struggling desperately with the question papers. Having done no revision, having not even thought of this particular subject since the Easter holiday, I was lost in a whirlpool of panic and desire, a whirpool ruled over by the gorgeous, ice-eyed Justine, who spent the two hours of the exam only a few feet from my sissified form, drinking in my humiliation and undoubted failure with a quiet but very real pleasure. Her powerful musk perfume tormented me, her eyes invaded every inch of my feminised frame. How on earth was I meant to concentrate! And, of course, I was not. And, of course, the examination was a disaster – at least for me. Pansy, however, seemed oblivious to the impact of her sexy attire and her own teasing, evil-eyed guardian, the sexy, naughty Juliette. Indeed, she completed the test with minutes to spare and then spent five difficult minutes while Juliette, leaning forward provocatively, whispered far from sweet nothings in her ear. Whatever it was she was saying, poor Pansy seemed both horrified and deeply aroused, and I found myself staring helplessly at the splendid figure of Justine and wondering what was going on inside that beautiful head of hers.
Besides Justine and Juliette, we were alone. Mrs Blunt had been led away by Ms Hartley and Aunt Jane at the beginning of the exam, and they only returned during the last few minutes of the awful test.
Eventually, our papers were collected by the two sisters. We were quickly re-bound and then led from the room, but not before Aunt Jane had invited Mrs Blunt and her lovely daughters to join us at her house that night for dinner, an invitation they eagerly accepted and which opened up a whole new vista of potential and very exciting humiliations.
* * *
In the car on the way back, I confronted the cruelty of my own failure and Pansy’s almost relaxed silence. Although she still wiggled and whimpered from the effects of the sensual Senso material, there was a look of a deeper, more mental pleasure about her – the look of achievement. She knew she had passed, even under the dreadful circumstances of the examination.
By the time we reached the house, it was nearly 8 p.m. And by the time we were returned to our room and untied, quickly showered, made up and changed back into our maid’s costumes, it was after 9 p.m.
Ms Hartley led us both downstairs to the living room, where we discovered Aunt Jane chatting with Mrs Blunt and her daughters over a glass of expensive French wine. Instinctively, we curtsied sweetly before the women, making sure to expose our befrilled panties, and a rush of dizzying masochistic pleasure washed over me as I was caught in the hypnotic gaze of Justine’s soul-binding gaze.
While she was still dressed in the very sexy outfit of the examination, Juliette had changed into a striking black and very short cocktail dress that displayed her very impressive figure to excellent effect, an effect added to by sheer black nylon tights and high-heeled court shoes. Indeed, both sisters looked absolutely fantastic, and Pansy and myself could not restrain moans of sissy pleasure through our fat dummy gags. This was made easier by the fact that we were no longer subject to the kinky and maddening caresses of Senso, but even after a cold shower, the sense of a much-heightened sexual awareness was coursing across our scented she-male forms.
One thing had begun to become evident during the examination and was now much more apparent: the fact that we were being ‘paired off’, Pansy with Juliette and myself with the gorgeous Justine. My aunt, Ms Hartley and Mrs Blunt seemed very keen for this to happen, and Aunt Jane almost immediately made it clear that I was to serve Justine, while Pansy would serve Juliette.
And so we set about our sissy duties, refreshed and a little less possessed by desire, the early thoughts of failure and humiliation being replaced by a familiar joy and determination in our maid duties. Indeed, to serve the lovely Justine was a sweet, teasing pleasure that made my sissy heart flutter with a most girlish sense of submission. I tottered to the kitchen, wiggling my pantied backside through the thick, semi-transparent petticoats of the maid’s dress, knowing that Justine’s eyes were fixed on my sissy form and studying this pretty she-male bottom, that her eyes were climbing my sexy seamed tights and taking a strange, perverse and perhaps confusing pleasure in the perfect shape of my legs.
I returned with a silver tray and a fresh glass filled with more golden-coloured wine. I curtsied once again before Justine and held out the tray. She smiled slightly and took the glass, her eyes already glazed by the alcoholic kick of this very high-quality Chablis.
Then we stood to stern sissy attention before our new mistresses, excited and perhaps even bemused. The secret was out now, surely: they would return to school the next day and tell of this bizarre adventure, of our sissy fates. I imagined the hilarity, the cruelty, the angry pleasure of all of those who had laughed at me, who had mocked and bullied me. In a way, I had become exactly what they always suspected I was. Yes, I was, without a doubt, a very strange example of the self-fulfilling prophecy!
While Justine was quiet and relaxed, Juliette was, thanks to the wine, loud and agitated.
‘Can’t we take them to school with us, Mummy?’ she joked. ‘Put them in their sweet little schoolgirl costumes and parade them before all those hunky boys?’
The women laughed. ‘Ohh, wouldn’t that be lovely, Pansy. Imagine all those handsome boys lining up to get a kiss or a feel. I bet you’re creaming your panties just thinking about it.’
At this point, Ms Hartley patiently reiterated the grim reality of the restrainers. Both girls seemed quite spellbound, and were further amazed as she went on to detail the erotic nature of our sissy relationship.
Then Juliette, her cruel smile shot through with a dark, ingenious desire, stepped forward and, in a single, shocking and brazen gesture, slipped a hand under Pansy’s frilled sea of frou-frou petticoating. The poor sissy gasped loudly into her tight, humiliating dummy gag and her eyes widened with terror and arousal. As Juliette began to stroke Pansy’s tightly imprisoned cock through her sexy silk panties, the unfortunate she-male writhed with a deeply ambivalent pleasure.
‘What a shame,’ Juliette whispered, her eyes fixed on Pansy’s. ‘You must be sooo frustrated.’
Pansy’s eyes began to water with the pain of the restrainer and the power of her masochistic sissy desire.
‘We’ll have to take it off some time, and let you have a little relief.’
Her smile widened as poor Pansy nodded desperately and unleashed a loud, pleading squeal. Juliette laughed contemptuously and stepped back, leaving Pansy lost in a whirlpool of awful, inescapable frustration.
‘Your daughter’s a natural,’ Aunt Jane said to Mrs Blunt.
‘Yes,’ the rotund, steel-eyed headmistress replied. ‘She has her father’s sadistic streak.’
Mrs Blunt was a widow, and, from the few comments she had made about her violent, drunken husband, a very happy one.
While Ms Hartley had been transforming us back into sissy maids, Aunt Jane had prepared a light supper, and Pansy and I spent the next hour serving the women wine and snacks. We were also allowed a few carefully supervised minutes to eat a small plate of salad vegetables and quiche, our first food since lunchtime.
By 11 p.m., it was clear that all the women were quite drunk. Aunt Jane had spent a co
nsiderable amount of time detailing the philosophy of the Bigger Picture, the work of SMC and the fate of Pansy and myself. Juliette continued to tease poor Pansy quite obsessively, stroking her pantied crotch and backside frequently and asking many questions about her dress and training. Justine remained silent and attentive, drinking up the details imparted by my aunt with a deep, slightly disturbing concentration, and intermittently looking over at me.
As we stood to attention in the living room, our hands behind our backs, awaiting our next instruction, I found myself staring helplessly at Justine, studying her cool, graceful beauty and strange stillness. Now and again our eyes would meet and I would look away nervously, overcome by a deep-rooted and very feminine shyness.
A few seconds past 11 p.m., Aunt Jane announced that it was ‘sissies’ bedtime’. Pansy and I exchanged justifiably nervous glances.
My aunt rose to her high-heeled feet and turned to face us. Her beauty filled the room with a soft, golden light and a familiar sense of utter adoration washed over me as she moved towards us.
‘Seeing how our sissy slaves have taken so well to Justine and Juliette, I suggest we let the girls put the little sweeties to bed.’
Ms Hartley laughed and nodded. Mrs Blunt merely smiled her agreement.
‘Brilliant idea!’ Juliette squealed, leaping to her feet, her gaze clamping onto Pansy’s worried face with a very cruel intent.
Aunt Jane made us curtsey deeply before Ms Hartley and Mrs Blunt, before leading the two of us, plus the two lovely sisters out of the living room and up to our room. Climbing delicately up the stairs, my heart pounding with erotic anticipation, I could hear poor Pansy yelp into her gag as Juliette, who was directly behind her, applied a series of hard slaps to the sissy’s very shapely, black nylon-sheathed thighs.
Company of Slaves Page 15