After the panties came a corset very similar to ones that I had been tied into frequently by my aunt and Ms Hartley. Yet this was made out of white, rubber-like Senso, and as Christina laced it tightly into place, I squirmed with an even stronger sexual excitement.
‘It will feel tighter than usual, Shelly,’ Christina whispered, ‘but I want you to have the loveliest figure imaginable for when we make love.’
I nearly passed out as these words tormented my mind. And as she finished lacing me, her hands slipped over my shoulder and began caressing my slender neck. I squealed with pleasure and brushed my rubber-pantied bottom against the front of her beautiful red dress. This was almost too much to endure!
Yet this pleasure was accompanied by a very real pain. As she pulled the corset lacing so terribly tight, the pressure on my tormented bowels increased considerably. The plug was now under a truly mighty pressure, and I knew that as soon as it melted, I would flood my nappy in a most terrible and humiliating manner, a fact that was made all too apparent by Christina’s teasing, cruel smile as she tied the laces in a fat, paradoxically delicate bow.
Once the corset was secured, I was led over to what looked like a flat metal panel built into the curving wall. Christina placed a hand against the panel and it suddenly opened. Then, from inside a hidden compartment, a beautiful, white mahogany dressing table quietly slid out, complete with two large, very beautifully framed oval mirrors. My eyes widened in amazement and Christina giggled.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her sissy voice smooth and sexy, ‘we’re all very hi-tech here.’
She drew the stool from the wardrobe and placed it by the dressing table. I was then told to sit down, a painful and very unsettling act thanks to the corset and the enema!
Soon, poor moaning Pansy, also tightly corseted, joined me, and the two of us found ourselves facing our flushed and very tightly gagged reflections.
‘Just a touch of make-up before we proceed with the dressing,’ Christina informed us, as she and Kathy began to sort out various creams and other items of make-up from the cluttered table top.
Before beginning this making up in earnest, our ball gags were removed, popping out of our sissy mouths with a comical whistle and two helpless gasps of relief.
First of all, our hair was carefully restyled into its former sissy glory. Almost immediately, and hardly surprisingly, it became apparent that both Christina and Kathy were expert in the art of make-up. After our hair, it was only a few sexy minutes before we were once again watching our always disturbingly feminine faces disappear beneath a thick layer of snow-white foundation cream, the base from which our humiliating babified image would so surely emerge. Bright pink rouge followed the foundation, then very carefully applied matching lipstick and eye shadow.
The transformation was quick, yet still shocking. Despite all the times we had been made up over the last few months, the reappearance of our sissy visages never ceased to inspire both unease and a terrible, unyielding desire, a strange almost self-love. The She-Male Narcissus.
Our faces beautifully complete, we were then enveloped in a cloud of very powerful rose-scented perfume and led back to the wardrobe and the gorgeous, delicate baby dresses. But before we were placed within their teasing fetishistic embrace, we were both presented with a heart-stopping implement of complete subjugation: a phallic dummy gag. Of course, we had spent weeks secured tightly in dummy gags, ultra-humiliating tools of female control that had both appalled and ultimately excited us. But those were simple, enlarged versions of the classic baby’s dummy. These gags were something quite different. Taken from long, semi-transparent pink boxes hidden in the wardrobe’s cupboard, the first thing one noticed about them was that their long, ribbed teats were designed to resemble in a very realistic manner a circumcised phallus! The teats, with their fat heads and long, tan bodies, were circled by a series of ribbed edges, and they ended at a curved base designed to cover the mouth area once the dummy was in place. There were no ribbons attached to the base, but on both sides of the teat there were two pink strips which vaguely resembled Velcro.
‘You will wear these at all times during the babification period,’ Christina informed us, bringing the dummy gag close to my face and ordering me to open my mouth.
I obeyed her with a feeling of furious masochistic bliss and then she popped the long, glistening teat into my mouth. The reason it was glistening soon became very apparent, for as soon as my lips pressed down on the teat, a very familiar and arousing taste filled my mouth.
Noticing my widening eyes, Christina smiled. ‘Yes, Shelly…sex juice. Each teat is coated in the sex juice of your designated mistress. In your case, the intimate secretions of Mistress Helen.’
As I moaned with renewed pleasure, Christina pressed the plastic sides of the base against my cheeks and they quickly held firm.
‘Each side of the base is coated with a powerful adhesive of the kind used on masking tape. This does mean that it can be removed by hand, but as your hands will be immobilised, this will not be a concern.’
As Mistress Helen’s secret taste seeped through my mouth and, seemingly, down into every pore of my sissy form, I noticed that Pansy had also been tightly silenced and that her eyes were betraying the pleasures of Mistress Anne’s most intimate flavours.
As we lingered over the gags, Christina and Kathy took two of the amazing dresses from the wardrobe, one pink and one white.
‘Shelly, you will be in white; Pansy will be in pink.’
The short, very pretty and incredibly sissified dresses were, of course, made from the form of Senso that most resembled a strange hybrid of silk and rubber, and as they were pulled over our carefully babifed forms, we swooned with pleasure. As the incredible, erotic, teasing fabric spread over our bodies, to combine with the stockings, we were drowned in the haunting, maddening pleasures of this mysterious material. We wiggled with a dreadful, unspeakable, ultimately indescribable physical pleasure. We squealed into our pungent gags. This was surely an astonishing sissy utopia of bondage and humiliation. And yet we were only at the beginning of our journey into the dark pleasures of the land these gorgeous servants referred to as the Company.
The dresses were buttoned into placed by a series of white pearl buttons that ran from the top of the very high, befrilled neck down to the middle of the tight, body-hugging back. As each button was secured, we felt the blissful fabric tighten against our ultra-sensitised skin and expanded our sissy dance of delight.
And yet even these glorious dresses were not the end. For as soon as they were positioned, our captors minced to the next wardrobe, pulled back the door and confronted us with a long wooden table on which stood a series of white plastic wig stands, each supporting a spectacular baby’s bonnet! The colour scheme matched exactly the row of dresses, and we could only watch with new wonderment as Christina delicately removed the white bonnet and Kathy the pink bonnet. They brought them towards us like royal servants bringing the crown to the Queen. Yes, this was indeed the most surreal and bizarre of coronation ceremonies!
The bonnets were made from the same Senso as the dresses. With their huge, arched and multilayered headpieces and long, lace befrilled side panels, they were exquisite and very powerful symbols of our deeply erotic infantilisation. And we beheld them with an almost religious awe.
‘This will look sooo wonderful,’ Christina purred, her sublime, soul-melting eyes burning into mine, a sheen of sex addiction circling her splendid sissy form like a divine frame of static electricity.
Then the bonnet was lowered with reverent care over my carefully sculpted sissy locks and tied in place with the ribbons that dangled from each of the elegant side flaps in a huge, dainty bow just below my white chin.
The look of sexual need in Christina’s eyes shifted as she stood back to admire her handiwork. Now I could see something else in those beautiful honey orbs, something approaching shock.
‘My, my…you are a pretty one.’
There was a momen
t of almost uncomfortable silence during which I noticed the lovely, regal Kathy also carefully studying her own pretty sissy creation.
Then, almost as if trying to shake off a hex of uncontrollable need, the two maids went back to the wardrobe and quickly returned with what appeared to be two pairs of rubber sheaths and Senso mittens.
‘You will wear immobilising hand sheaths and mittens at all times during the induction process. The aim is to make you as helpless as possible, thus utterly reliant on your mistresses.’
The rubber sheaths, which conformed exactly to the colour coding, were then stretched over our hands, quickly making them completely useless. The sheaths were not a Senso variant and neither were the beautiful, silk mittens that were subsequently pulled over them. The mittens were bound in place with silk ribbons sewn into the fabric around the wrist.
Yet even this elaborate and highly erotic immobilisation was not the end of our delightful ordeal. No: the final touch was a pair of adult-sized silk booties with matching silk laces. We were made to sit back onto the leather-backed stools and the booties were held before our startled, aroused eyes. Kneeling before our uncomfortable, aroused and so perfectly babified forms, our she-male mistresses gently slipped the booties over our Senso-encased feet and then tied the silk laces tightly in place in the standard, ultra-fat sissy bow.
Then we were ready: sealed from head to toe in the trappings of a baby slave, enveloped in arousing, tormenting, exquisite Senso, humiliated and excited, our cocks rampant but subjugated, our sissy mouths stopped with long, fat, phallic dummies coated in the cum of our mistresses, our vision reduced to a scented silken tunnel by the delightful bonnets.
As we were helped to our feet, we moaned with fear and pleasure, the two now so closely linked, a circular chain of masochistic need which every kinky thought followed into a whirlpool of bottomless desire.
We were led from the oval changing room. Forced by the booties and the increasingly uncomfortable liquid filling our bowels to take the tiniest of steps, we soon found ourselves settling for an embarrassing shuffle, which produced helplessly sexy wiggles from our sissy bottoms which were accompanied by the loud, deeply humiliating rustle of the extraordinary plastic panties.
We were taken back down the brightly lit hallway to the door marked NURSERY 1. Here, Kathy punched another number into the digital lock and the door swung open. Momentarily facing each other, Pansy and I exchanged a brief, frightened and very aroused look. Then we were led into the room that would be our home for the next two weeks.
* * *
The nursery was a large square, windowless room. The walls were hot pink and covered in paintings of very large, striking white roses. From the ceiling hung a big, perfectly circular lightshade, which was also pink and flooded the room with a strange filtered light. The floor was covered in thick white rubber matting. In the centre of the room was a huge circular playpen made from white pine, and in the left-hand corner was an equally large, wooden-barred cot. In the right-hand corner was a white wooden wardrobe and along the wall beside it were rows of shelves packed full of the tools of our babification, tools that put an even more powerful fear into our wide sissy eyes, a fear, as always, framed by desire. For here were more piles of nappies, more strange rubber tubing, a wide variety of dummies, rolls of pink and white masking tape, large baby bottles, a variety of rubber bibs, bottles and jars containing strange creams and gels, a number of piles of silk and rubber-coated cording. And, to our combined amazement, a collection of ribbed dildoes of various lengths, all pink, all rubber, all terrifying and arousing in their kinky function.
By the playpen were two adult-sized highchairs, and by these a pink plastic table. We were led past the highchairs and then through a small gate built into the oval frame of the giant playpen. The floor of the pen was covered in a thicker, deeper and very soft pink rubber. Surrounding the interior of the playpen were a vast army of dolls, all female, of every possible historical and cultural style, and all of them dressed in a type of quite deliberately sissy attire.
As we were led to the centre of the playpen, I became aware that the function of the dolls was not entertainment: these were not for playing, but for instructing and informing. And then there was the deeper message: while in this nursery, we were little more than dolls ourselves, the pretty, babified playthings of our various beautiful and determined mistresses.
We were made to kneel; a painful and difficult task which was made only just tolerable by the care and gentleness of the maids. Our bowels bubbled and the dreadful pressure on the plugs increased as we were made to kneel down directly facing each. Then, Kathy stepped out of the pen to retrieve a variety of cording from the shelves.
‘You will be bound and left to void your bowels. This should happen in about ten minutes. Then you will spend some time coming to terms with what has happened to you and its fundamental humiliation. We will return in about an hour and then you will be cleaned, changed and presented to Miss Blakemore.’
Christina’s words were delivered with a cool detachment that totally contradicted her earlier, much more erotic and gentle tones. I listened with horror, watching poor Pansy’s pretty, babified, bonnet-framed face betray every terrible, paradoxical emotion that was seeping through my own.
The two maids then very tightly bound our ankles and knees, our wrists and, painfully, our elbows. As our thighs were squeezed together, an added pressure was placed upon the plug and a cool, sick sweat began to seep through the alabaster paint covering my face.
Satisfied that we were unable to move an inch, the two maids then left us to our fate. As they departed, poor Pansy squealed a last, dummy-gagged plea for mercy and the two beauties burst into peels of cruel, girlish laughter.
Then there was only the room and the two of us, tethered, helpless, facing each other with wide, pained eyes, awaiting our awful fate with a sense of the deepest horror and sexual arousal.
As predicted, the plug began to melt within ten minutes of their departure, and as it melted a powerful skin irritant was released into our backsides. At first there was just a very mild itching, but this soon built up into a hot, skin-crawling irritation that very effectively weakened any effort to maintain my already embattled sphincter muscle. Very soon, we were both squealing furiously into our gags, bouncing and wiggling, struggling with a futile desperation against our tight bonds. Yet the more we struggled, the looser the plugs became and greater the pain from the irritant.
Then there was a very uncomfortable pop deep within my anus and the plug simply disappeared into a trickle of liquid that seeped into my large, tight nappy. My eyes widened in horror, my bowels turned. A dreadfully loud fart exploded from my arse and then, as I squealed in ultimate humiliation and horror, the river of waste materials and liquid that had been held back by the plug erupted out of my backside and into the nappy, a vast, prolonged and disgusting flood that left me in tears of despair and discomfort.
I sobbed pathetically and fought the terrible stink that accompanied this involuntary evacuation. Pansy continued to squeal and bounce, appalled by my own situation and by the impending reality of her own. Then she too lost control and in an explosion of farts and sobs, flooded her own nappy.
We knelt together for over an hour in this most degrading state. The discomfort was dreadful. But what was worse was that the skin irritant continued to plague our backsides, and we found ourselves squirming helplessly in our own mess. The stink was truly awful and we cried helplessly for every second of this wicked ordeal, cried and squealed for release.
Never had I felt so overwhelmed and useless. My soul was crushed and the last, weak vestiges of my male identity were destroyed. In that horrid hour, I was completely overwhelmed and subdued; left a truly blank personality awaiting re-creation as my mistresses saw fit. And this, of course, was the entire point of the dark, grim exercise.
By the time Christina and Kathy returned, we would have done anything to escape. Truly – anything. We would have willingly allowed t
hem to subject us to a full sex change rather than stay in that room in that condition one second longer.
Christina and Kathy were now wearing long, white rubber aprons, matching rubber gloves and surgical masks. In their pretty eyes I could see a helpless disgust, and my heart sank even further into the abyss of self-loathing.
We were untied and helped shakily to our feet. We squealed with profound discomfort as the full-to-bursting-point nappies weighed down our now frail sissy forms. We were led to a previously unseen door in the nursery wall and through this into a large shower area which contained two pink-walled cubicles. Christina led me into one cubicle and Kathy led sobbing, moaning Pansy into the other. With a speed that truly amazed me, Christina then stripped every item of the elaborate clothing from my wretched, defeated form.
When it came to removing the plastic pants, she released a gasp of horror, but continued bravely onward. By each cubicle there was a plastic rubbish sack hanging from the wall, and in a flash of fear and loathing, she whipped away the pungent, soaked nappy and dropped it into the sack. Then, very quickly, she took the shower attachment off the wall, turned the large, ridged dial beside it and began to wash my stained, shaking form, hosing off every last speck of waste matter with a grim efficiency.
The sense of relief as I was cleaned was quite indescribable and I sighed helplessly into my fat dummy gag.
Once clean, I was led back out of the cubicle and very carefully dried with a fat pink towel. Then, to my surprise, my buttocks and thighs were covered in a thick layer of sweetly scented talcum powder. I was then led back into the nursery, naked except for the teasing restrainer.
Here, I was made to stand with my hands behind my back, my sex rampant even in its tight restraint, my eyes cast down at the floor in total humiliation. Soon Pansy joined me. We couldn’t bear to look at each other.
‘You’ve both had a deeply unpleasant but very necessary experience,’ Christina said, removing the mask. ‘Now you will be prepared for the night. After you have been dressed, you will meet Ms Blakemore. Then Mistress Helen and Mistress Anne will feed you and help put you to bed.’
Company of Slaves Page 19