Company of Slaves

by Christina Shelly

  But there was no release. Instead, Christina leant forward and whispered a suitably enigmatic ‘soon’ before placing a sex-scented kiss on my silken forehead. I moaned with a dreadful hunger into my fat dummy gag, but she merely smiled and then repositioned the wooden side panel. Kathy did the same, and we then found ourselves prone, utterly helpless and teased to the very edge of sanity, a fact made so much worse by the fact that the stillness inspired by our new baby bondage also allowed our bodies to become even greater prisoners of the tormenting pleasures of Senso. Indeed, within less than a minute, both of us were wiggling and squealing helplessly as our skin was covered in a million soft sex kisses, as our rampant, tightly sealed cocks were sucked and tickled, as the dildo sunk even deeper into our sissy arses.

  Then Christina disappeared from my line of sight, to be quickly replaced by the startling form of Mistress Helen. She held a small, oblong control device in her hands, and at its centre was a large pink button.

  ‘You will sleep for at least twelve hours. The milk contained a powerful muscle relaxant, and you will, I’m afraid, wet yourself during the night. The restrainer has a micro-filtered head, so you will be able to urinate as normal. As we control your conscious mind, so we will control your unconscious mind. This simple fact will be further demonstrated by the dildoes.’

  She then pressed the pink button and, almost immediately, I began to feel a deep and deeply pleasurable vibration in my anus, a vibration emanating from the dildo! Yes, this sinister pink phallus inserted so teasingly into my tender sissy arse was in fact a vibrator! And as its vibrations increased in strength, as a terrible and absolute pleasure spread out from my anus and across my Senso-imprisoned form, I squealed with a vast, all-pervasive sissy pleasure into my fat dummy gag. As I did so, and as I struggled in my baby bondage, I was joined by Pansy, and both of us were soon performing a song and dance of sissy sex mania.

  ‘The vibrator will run all night,’ Mistress Helen explained, a cruel but also deeply aroused smile lighting up her gorgeous face. ‘As it will run every night for the first two weeks. A simple but highly effective conditioning that will help concentrate all thoughts and feelings associated with your body and its pleasures on the arse.’

  Perhaps I wasn’t hearing her correctly. Perhaps she said something else. I cannot remember, because at the time I was lost deep inside a velvet glove of the most appalling and unyielding pleasure. As was Pansy. Indeed, as we writhed and moaned, we were not even aware of the women and the maids departing, of the door sliding shut, of the powerful overhead lighting dimming slowly to blackness. All we were aware of was a cosmic pleasure, the like of which we had never known, and then a deep sleep which was itself just a purer extension of this pleasure.

  Nine

  It is difficult to describe the events of those first two weeks with any accuracy. All I can say with certainty is that we were, except for one startling occasion, confined to the nursery and kept permanently babified. There was no instruction other than our constant sexual torment and our increasing obsession with our haunting feminine feelings and the wondrous baby clothing that inspired and developed these feelings. We were fed three times a day by a variety of women, all beautiful, all associated with SMC in some way or other. I remember Donna most of all. Mainly because she, of all the dominant females, was the most gentle and caring. In her eyes I never really saw cruelty or sarcasm. No, in her beautiful blue eyes there was only ever kindness and desire. This was particularly strange, given my initial impressions.

  And it was Donna who told me, as she fed me a lunchtime bottle of full-cream, sugared milk, that she was Christina’s wife. This fact was so absolutely startling that there was no way I could ever forget it!

  We were kept in the most glorious and fetishistic of baby girl attire at all times during the day. But the concept ‘day’ is probably a false one, for the only indication of the passage of time was whether the powerful lights were on and we were locked in the playpen, or whether we were tightly trussed in our kinky romper suits in the cot, moaning into our cum-soaked dummies as the amazing vibrators drove us into a sex-addled sleep.

  Beside the women, we were carefully watched over by Christina and Kathy. We were also introduced to some of the other slaves. There was Annette, the Senior Assistant Housemaid, a stunning and very petite red-headed she-male, who was very obviously Mistress Anne’s personal slave. Despite her status, she was permanently dressed in striking hot pink from befrilled neck to hosed toe, and her amazing red hair was bound in a long ponytail that ran all the way to the base of her spine with a series of small and expertly bound pink silk ribbons. She was a gorgeous, emerald-eyed sissy beauty, with very large breasts for her slender form. She worshipped Mistress Anne and there was obviously a very close and intimate link between her and the marvellous Christina. It was also very clear that Annette was more than a little interested in the pretty, babified form of Pansy, and each time she visited, she was allowed to feed my sexy, sissy companion and cover her pretty pink ears in a delightfully erotic mutation of baby talk. Pansy responded by becoming even more submissive and feminine, her big, blue eyes wide with desire and excitement as the lovely Annette quietly slipped a pink lace-gloved hand under Pansy’s billowing, thick and helplessly sexy petticoats.

  Besides Donna’s bizarre confession, there were two other events that occurred during that first fortnight that I will never be able to forget. Both involved visits, one on which I was sent, and one that was paid to me.

  I have no idea of the time or day. Let us just say that it was a few hours after we had been helped from our cots by the sweet nursery maids, Christina and Kathy. As usual, we had been stripped, bathed, powdered and perfumed, then put into our gorgeous baby girl costumes. After our morning feeding, we had been returned to the playpen, our freshly juiced dummy gags in place, our mittened wrists lashed behind our backs with silk ribbons, our bootied ankles also tied in exactly the same manner. As often happened in the morning, Christina had turned the vibrators on, and we were lost in a now very familiar sexual ecstasy. Then the door to the nursery slid open and Annette entered the room.

  ‘Mistress Helen wants to see Shelly in her room, now,’ she said.

  There was surprise in Christina’s eyes. The Senior Housemaid had been sorting our clothing and her eyes also betrayed a hint of jealousy. She switched off my vibrator and untied me. Poor Pansy squealed for her own release, her eyes filled with the sex madness, but Christina just smiled rather cruelly.

  ‘No. Not you, petal. You’ve got at least another hour to go.’

  With Pansy’s desperate squeals ringing in my ears, I found myself being led by the gorgeous Annette from the room, my heart pounding with a sweet, deeply masochistic anticipation.

  In the ultra-sexed days since my entry into the SMC academy there was no doubt that I had changed, that the indoctrination was having a very real and recognisable effect. In my constantly babified state, I had begun to lose a clear view of who and what I was, and this, of course, was quite deliberate. My personality was being eroded and replaced with the brutal constancy of desire, of a deeply sissy and masochistic need for ultra-feminisation and female domination, yet also for something more: sissy love. As the vibrator had throbbed in my arse, as the sweet, sensual Senso fabrics had tormented and teased my silken form, as the parade of she-male and female beauties passed before my wide, hungry eyes, I had slowly begun to desire one thing above all others: a sissy lover. In our playpen, bound and gagged, Pansy had returned my look of desperate, deep need; in our helpless, wondrous silence, we had communicated a fierce desire for each other, one that had been terribly compounded as we were bathed together, fed together and forced so sexily to sleep together in our ecstatic babified bondage. As all memories of my previous self were finally eradicated, one memory had the strength to remain: the memory of Pansy’s cock, of Dominic’s cock, of the taste and feel of it, of my pleasure in taking it into my mouth and sucking it gently to a vast, angry eruption.

  Yes,
my conditioning was working very well by the time I was led by the gorgeous, mysterious Annette into a large, elegantly decorated room on one of the upper-floor corridors of this large country house – the anteroom to the quarters of the divine Mistress Helen.

  I had shuffled along in my Senso babywear, the booties and nappy combining to reduce my walk to a helplessly pathetic sissy wiggle, the sound of the plastic panties echoing around me with quite deliberate and utterly humiliating effect, my eyes eating up the sexy, elegant vision that was Annette. As usual, she was dressed in the beautiful, delicate maid’s dress that was the symbol of the ‘graduated’ housemaid. Yet unlike all the other maids, hers was, as always, in bright sissy pink: a spectacular pink dress of the silklike Senso, a pink pinafore, very sheer Senso tights, and five-inch-heeled, pink patent leather mules. Even her panties, clearly visible through the mist of pink petticoating that clung so sweetly to the very short skirt of the dress, were pink, and I was treated to a particularly erotic view as the delicious, sensual she-male wiggled prettily before me, her bottom a teasing sex tool that inspired angry whimpers of need through the tightly positioned dummy gag.

  By the time we entered the anteroom, my eyes were positively popping out of my sissy head and the pathetic whimpers had turned into loud, girlish moans of deeply frustrated need.

  Mistress Helen was seated on a long black leather sofa, and as I waddled in behind the beautiful, kinky form of lovely Annette, she was clearly struggling to avoid laughter. Yet even in this suppressed ridicule there was a very obvious sexual excitement. Of all the gorgeous mistresses I had encountered in the past months, it was Mistress Helen who seemed to take the most pleasure in her power over the sissified male, and who thus had the most potential for acts of sadistic control. As I curtsied deeply before her, exposing my Senso-sheathed legs and spectacular plastic panties, I had no idea I was about to experience the full force of this sadism.

  She dismissed Annette with a gesture and the glorious sissy minced from the room, her tightly restrained breasts bouncing with a terribly teasing enthusiasm, her sparkling green eyes covering me in a look of mysterious amusement, a look that meant only one thing: I know something you don’t.

  I then found myself facing Mistress Helen knowing that, even by the standards of this bizarre institution, something very unusual was about to happen.

  She was dressed in a tight, long black skirt that ran from her ample waist down to her ankles, and which seemed to be made from a beautifully crafted form of velvet that shimmered brilliantly in the powerful light of the anteroom. Between the tight hem of the skirt and her very high-heeled, black patent leather court shoes there was a terribly exciting glimpse of very sheer black nylon. Above the skirt, she wore a perfectly matching black jacket pulled tight against her plump form, and beneath the jacket a cream silk blouse with a very high, frilled neck that was circled by a beautiful brooch made from jet and edged with gold, and which was shaped in the form of a rose. Yes, the Black Rose. The Queen of this strange, splendid castle of sissy servitude.

  ‘You look quite marvellous, Shelly. The girls have, as usual, done a wonderful job.’

  Her voice, filled with sensual authority and much experience of the subjugation of males, was pure sex, a thick, husky yet infinitely feminine affirmation of the power and beauty of the dominant female.

  ‘Do you like your nappies?’

  I curtsied meekly and her smile widened.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you do. Especially with that vibrator tormenting you most of the day and night…and, of course, the soft caress of Senso.’

  My eyes betrayed my furious arousal and the rapid progress of my ultimate transformation. I was hers, as I was every woman’s; a helpless, sex-addicted sissy slave whose personality had been replaced by an endless masochistic desire.

  ‘I have spent quite a lot of time talking to your aunt. She’s a very impressive woman. She told me all about you and Pansy, about your little affair and how eager you both were to be transformed into sissy maids. She also told me about your gift for pleasuring your mistresses.’

  I blushed, although the thick white make-up covering my face hid my embarrassment very well. My coyly averted eyes, however, did not.

  ‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Shelly. This skill makes you particularly valuable to us. I also understand you’re a highly skilled cock sucker. That, too, will prove extremely helpful in your development here.’

  I looked up at her and betrayed my deepest, darkest thoughts.

  ‘Yes, I know. Cock. It’s in your mind all the time now. Just as it should be. From now on, any thought of your personal pleasure will be channelled in two clear directions: the pleasure of making your mistresses happy – the pleasure of submission; and the pleasure of cock and arse – sucking cock and being fucked up the arse. We are, as you know too well, ensuring that your arse is the real centre of your pleasure universe. The joy you take in submitting to womankind will be matched only by the joy you will take in being taken from behind by other sissies and, on occasion, men. Any thought of penetrative sex with a female will be washed from your mind completely.’

  These words filled me with both giddy pleasure and a deep, helpless sadness. I was, technically, a virgin, and although obviously with homosexual leanings, I had always desired women. Now this desire was being used in the most intricate and perhaps cruel way to control my very being!

  ‘We have been very lucky,’ she continued, rising from the sofa. ‘Thanks to Lady Ashcroft we have managed to turn a small, private business into the basis of a revolution. SMC has developed into an international concern. The revenue from our internet site alone is enough to maintain the business and to finance our political arm. There is a world of dominant women just waiting for the message, Shelly. And we have the means both to communicate the message and turn it into reality. At the moment, we have a relatively small group of sissies here at the academy, which as you’ve probably guessed is the operational HQ for SMC and the Bigger Picture. Indeed, this beautiful house is formally the Ashcroft country seat.’

  As she spoke, she walked to within a few inches of me, and her powerful musk perfume washed over my babified form like an ensnaring net.

  ‘But we have very big plans, Shelly. And you and Pansy will be very important to their success. As will your lovely aunt and her good friends deep down in the West Country. We plan to open regional offices in all the main areas of the UK over the next two years. A provisional office has also been opened in the United States, where there is huge potential both for SMC and the Bigger Picture. Lady Ashcroft is a good friend of Eleanor Grooves, previously first lady and very soon, we hope, the first woman President of the United States. Obviously their association is top secret, but the potential here…well, need I say more?’

  I shook my head slightly, astonished by the breadth of the plans.

  ‘Aided by Senso, which we will very shortly begin to sell via our website, we intend to create a worldwide network of dominant women and sissy slaves. Yes, SMC will become a true multinational company of slaves.’

  As she spoke, her eyes were filled with a dark, absolute passion. This was a holy mission for Mistress Helen. She was the high priestess of a matriarchal cult which planned to take over the world!

  She slipped a finger under my ribboned chin and tilted my painted face up towards hers.

  ‘Yes, Shelly. Big, big plans. And I hope this lets you appreciate your role – how important you and your fellow sissies are to these plans.’

  I performed a slight, fearful curtsey and she laughed.

  ‘But let’s not get too serious. I didn’t invite you here to receive a lecture. I invited you here to entertain me.’

  The fire of religion burning in her lovely brown eyes, eyes so much like my aunt’s, suddenly mutated into the fire of desire, and I felt my sex twitch in its layers of tight, sissy restraint.

  ‘Your aunt told me you gave her the best orgasm she had had for twenty years. If you do the same for me, there will be a ver
y special treat.’

  I looked up into her beautiful face and nodded slightly. I had had the taste of her with me for many hours. Now there would be the physical reality that produced that taste.

  ‘I have already familiarised you with my most intimate fragrance. And I hope you appreciated it.’

  I curtsied much deeper and her smile widened. She then gestured that I should follow her out of the anteroom and through a doorway into an adjoining room.

  We entered a very large and spectacular bedroom and I felt my sissy heart begin to pound with a fierce sexual anticipation.

  In the centre of this enormous room was a very large, circular bed covered in cream silk sheets. Dotted around the edges of the room were a beautiful antique dressing table, a vast walk-in closet, a three piece suite of cream leather, a large, widescreen television and home entertainment accessories, and, along one wall, rows of shelves neatly stacked with a vast variety of books.

  Mistress Helen glided over to the bed and turned. It was now quite clear what was required of me, and as she gestured for me to come nearer, I felt the most exquisite sense of sissy submission. Now I would perform the sacred duty of all sissies: pleasuring the Mistress.