‘Kneel down before me, Shelly.’
I obeyed, kneeling before my divine goddess, a look of hopeless worship in my wide sissy eyes.
Mistress Helen towered over me like some wondrous living monument to womankind. I felt my heart speed up, my stomach turn with a sickening and yet delightful nervousness. I moaned hungrily into my fat dummy gag as she then very slowly removed the elegant black velvet jacket, sex flames burning in the dark centres of gorgeous eyes.
As the jacket was discarded onto the bed, she began to slip very carefully, very slowly and teasingly out of the long black velvet skirt.
‘Christina is quite smitten by you, I’m afraid,’ she said, gently pulling the skirt down over her black-hosed thighs. ‘And I can see the attraction is mutual. Although it is planned your sissy lover will be Pansy, you will both require careful training following the period of babification. We have therefore agreed that you will be trained in sexual techniques by Chrissie, and that Annette will deal with Pansy. This is the best way, we feel, given that Chrissie and Annette have been sissy lovers for some time now.’
I listened to these words with a sense of disbelief and intense arousal. It was as if I had been transported to a realm where my sexual fantasies were being made glorious reality before they had even entered my head! But as I watched this stunning, imperial woman reveal her long, finely shaped legs, and as I noticed a heart-shaped damp patch between her legs, I realised this was exactly the point: to control and condition me to the point where each movement and thought I had was entirely predictable within a strict regime of constant female control and relentless sissification.
Mistress Helen let the skirt fall to her ankles and then ordered me to pick it up and place it on the bed. I nodded weakly. Thanks to the tight rubber sheaths and the fat silken mittens I had not been able to use my hands since my arrival, and it was now surprisingly difficult for me to get any kind of purchase on the slippery velvet. And as I fumbled desperately, kneeling before this amazing woman, I felt so utterly useless and pathetic, so utterly subjugated to the will and whims of another.
Eventually, Mistress Helen sighed angrily, grabbed the skirt from me and threw it on the bed.
‘You really do need to begin to adapt, Shelly,’ she scolded. ‘I was hoping to avoid punishing you, but I can see you really do need to spend some more time contemplating the true meaning of your role.’
Her words were filled with a bleak sarcasm, and I knew that she had known the moment she ordered me to pick up the skirt that I would fail, fail and be punished.
But whatever punishment she had in mind was cast from both our minds as she began very slowly to unbutton the shimmering silk blouse, revealing as she did so very large breasts imprisoned in a pretty black brassiere, whose wide cups were trimmed with intricate patterns of black French lace.
Once the blouse was dealt with, she ordered me to stand. I clambered to my bootied feet and watched as she slid back onto the bed and positioned herself so that her head was resting on two silk-encased pillows and her legs were spread wide.
‘Get up on the bed, Shelly.’
I nodded, stunned, amazed, elated. But even this simple movement proved difficult. The mock silk Senso fabric of my dress and stockings and the genuine silk fabric of the bed’s cream sheets created a particularly slippery interaction, and I was forced to wiggle like some kind of pathetic sissy sex snake to get up on the bed and within a few inches of her hosed feet.
She then sat up, leant forward and, with one violent gesture, tugged the fat, ribbed dummy gag from my mouth.
‘Now kiss my feet, Shelly. Just like you kissed Emily Ashcroft’s feet.’
She laid back down and, again, I obeyed without question, kissing and sucking her nylon-wrapped feet and toes with a furious enthusiasm, eager to please this goddess in any way she saw fit. Soon, I could hear her soft, surprisingly girlish moans and a powerful feeling of satisfaction filled my helplessly sissy heart.
And after a prolonged dose of erotic foot worship, she told me, with a voice soaked in sexual arousal, to sit up on my heels. I obeyed and watched as she slowly and very gracefully removed her tights and then cast them onto the floor.
‘We’ll need those for later,’ she said, her eyes betraying some wicked plot that was no doubt related to my forthcoming ‘punishment’. ‘Now remove my panties.’
I shuffled forward, very much aware of my previous failure. Our eyes met and I felt like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of a speeding car, hypnotised by desire even in the heart of a very real fear that I would fail again and be sentenced to an even more perverse punishment at the hands of this gorgeous dominant female.
She spread her legs and I wiggled towards her, the babyish rustle of the plastic panties now more humiliating than ever and thus all the more exciting!
‘Use you teeth,’ she said, as I came within inches of her muscular, wide inner thighs.
I looked up at her in amazement.
‘You heard me: your teeth.’
My body shaking, I leant forward and was immediately assailed by the powerful scent of her sex. Her dark, silk panties were quite obviously soaked in sex juice, and this inevitably added to my increasing and, thanks to the constantly teasing restrainer, infuriating arousal.
I managed to take the slender left corner of the panties in my teeth and then tried as gently as possible to pull them down her thighs. She helped by raising her plump, shapely buttocks slightly and, to my surprise, I made immediate progress. I then repeated this exercise with the right side and, within a few delicate, pungent minutes, I had managed to move the panties to just above her knees. She brought her legs together and I grasped the soaked, deeply aromatic gusset of the panties and then pulled them down to her perfectly formed ankles. She then kicked them off and ordered me to return to her sex.
She came three times over the next thirty minutes, her orgasms announced by a warrior woman scream of animal pleasure and huge, atomic aftershocks that rippled across her glorious, ample form. And as she came, I gasped for air and felt a very familiar sense of deep satisfaction: I was performing my duty as a sissy slave. Here I was doing what a sissy was designed to do: give her mistress pleasure. And I was doing it well.
Eventually, I was allowed to sit back on my knees, my face soaked, the taste and smell of her divine cunt all-pervasive.
She pulled herself up onto her elbows and faced me, her eyes wide with a strange mixture of amusement and relief.
‘That was good, Shelly. Very good.’
I smiled weakly and stared down at the bed.
‘Your modesty is very becoming, and quite vital,’ she whispered. ‘But you may look at me.’
I looked up and watched in astonishment as she proceeded to unclip her pretty lace-edged brassiere and pull it free of her very large breasts. A sigh of intense sissy pleasure escaped my lips as these splendid orbs were exposed to my tormented, hungry eyes.
‘Come here,’ she whispered.
I edged forward as she lay back on the pillows. She then very gently helped me to position myself so that my head was across her wide lap.
‘You may suckle me for a few minutes.’
Shaking with a furious excitement, my cock battling uselessly against the dreadful and incredible Senso restrainer, I leant forward and took her stiff, long left nipple between my lips. She gasped with a renewed pleasure as I then began to suck gently on this soft, pale-rose breast. Almost immediately, I was lost in a world of bottomless pleasure.
As I sucked, she stroked my hair and moaned softly.
‘There, there,’ she whispered. ‘Such a good little girl. Such a pretty, delicate, sweet baby. Ohhhh…yes, yes we should really think about keeping you in nappies forever. Wouldn’t…wouldn’t that be lovely.’
And on she went. And on I went. Eventually, I was ordered to change breast and the strange, highly erotic suckling continued.
A further orgasmic squeal soon filled the room and then I was carefully detached from her right breas
t. She looked down at me with a soft, maternal smile and I felt swallowed up by her desire.
‘Such a shame you were naughty earlier on, Shelly. Especially after being such a good girl subsequently. But now you must be punished.’
She then pulled herself up off the bed and ordered me to my feet. She slipped her amazing, erotically plump body into a semi-transparent black nightgown and led me over to the very large walk-in closet.
She flicked on a light switch by the entrance to the closet and revealed a long, perfectly rectangular room lined on each side with her exotic, sexy clothing. Running beneath this fetish jungle of feminine delights were a series of four-drawer chests, and running along the top of each chest was a vast collection of elegant, sexy female shoes.
I stared at this proliferation of female attire with a tormented fetishist’s eyes and felt a terrible, irresistible sexual attraction to these potent, beautiful symbols of Mistress Helen’s absolute power and control.
‘A weakness, I know,’ she said, her dark, sensual eyes filled with cruel irony, ‘but I’m afraid my love of clothes is only second to my love of subjugating pretty sissies like yourself.’
She then led me deep into this gorgeous jungle, and eventually I found myself standing by a dark space between a stunning collection of silk slips and petticoats.
‘Seeing how you are quite unable to control your sissy body, you will spend the next eight hours hanging in this closet. As my slave, you are no more to me than my clothes. Indeed, I’m afraid I value one or two items in here far more than any of my sissies.’
After these stinging words, she quickly and roughly helped me undress, stripping me down to my rock-hard, rubbered and ringed sex in just a few minutes. Naked before her, my arousal, my worshipful desire all too apparent, I could only watch with a growing sense of unease as she proceeded to take a very sheer black nylon body stocking from one of the chests.
‘Put this on – quickly,’ she snapped.
I stared, dumbstruck, at this splendidly sexy costume and then up at her majestic, imperial form. Her hard, long nipples strained against the slender fabric of the nightgown and her very large, very impressive breasts rose and fell with an excited rapidity. Then, out of the blue, she slapped my face, a very hard, painful blow which quickly shook me from this erotic contemplation.
‘Now, Shelly!’
Tears welling in my wide, girlish eyes, I obeyed her. My silken body tormented by the ever-present kiss of Senso, I fully expected this new item of fetish wear to be made from the same awe-inspiring fabric. But this was just normal, ten-denier nylon. Yet its soft, teasing caress was still enough to inspire a moan of deep, dark pleasure as I pulled it up my body and a slight, sarcastic smile from Mistress Helen as she watched me wiggle and gasp.
The body stocking was designed almost exactly like a pair of tights below the waist, yet also had no outlets for hands at the end of each sleeve. Thus I was completely sealed in nylon from my toes to my neck, my restrained cock pressed angrily against the soft fabric, my ultra-sensitised body both relieved that this was not the tormenting Senso but also excited by a gorgeous material that had long been at the heart of my intense fetish life.
Satisfied that I was fully enveloped in the stocking, Mistress Helen then took a fat roll of silver masking tape from the chest. She very quickly taped my wrists and elbows tightly behind my back. She then stretched three of four layers of the tape around my bound wrists and waist and around my bound elbows and chest, thus completely immobilising my upper body. Kneeling by my hosed feet, she then set to work on my ankles and knees. Yet this was only the beginning. Once this initial bondage had been completed, she began to wind the tape up from my ankles, past my knees and towards my thighs: I was being mummified!
I looked at her with frightened eyes and she smiled.
‘You will learn that all the mistresses have their “tastes’’, Shelly. I have always found the complete immobilisation of the human form a fascinating and arousing experience. I suggest you ask Chrissie some time.’
Within a few terrifying (but also intensely exciting) minutes, I was cocooned from toe to neck in the thick adhesive tape and all that was left of the roll was the hollow cardboard centre. I was very tightly and completely immobilised, a silver mummy awaiting some dreadful premature entombment. But even this kinky taping was not the end of my ordeal. For no sooner had the last strip of tape been applied, than my ample mistress smiled and left me swaying precariously at the end of the closet, returning a few moments later armed with her cum-soaked panties and tights.
‘You know the drill, Shelly. Open up.’
I obeyed, my heart pounding, my tightly taped thighs squeezing the constantly tormenting phallus even deeper into my ever-widening arse.
Mistress Helen folded the beautiful, black silk panties into a ball, with the gusset fully exposed, and then stuffed them deep into my mouth. Once again I was overwhelmed by the powerful taste of this stunning dominatrix. She then produced another thick roll of masking tape, tore off a long, wide strip and sealed my pretty sissy lips tightly shut. I squealed with masochistic delight, my cheeks bulging, my eyes pleading for even more humiliation and ever-tighter bondage.
She then pulled the soaking tights into a bowl and stretched the gusset against my face. The smell of her was heavenly, a mixture of cum, sweat and piss that left my poor mummified form quivering with a brutal sissy pleasure, a pleasure that was doubly intensified as she pulled the bowl down over my head and plunged me, as had the lovely Justine, into a dark, nylon-sheathed world of sex.
Mistress Helen used the legs of the tights to very effectively blindfold me and also to strengthen the gag. Now, I was truly helpless and in a state of deep masochistic ecstasy. The leg used to blindfold me had covered my ears, which was already sheathed by the nylon hood, and now not only were speech and sight blocked, but also hearing. The body stocking and the tape cocoon made the sense of touch also very problematic, but I was able to feel Mistress Helen suddenly grasp me around the waist and move me a few feet to the left and thus, I knew, beneath the right-hand clothes bar of the closet. Then I could sense a further layer of entombment – something was being drawn up my mummified form – a bag, perhaps. Then, suddenly, a deeper, harsher darkness and I could sense the bag being tightened above my head. Then more bondage: what felt like thick leather belts being secured at my ankles, knees and waist, and then secured with a painful tightness. Then, the most bizarre feeling: a tugging pressure above me – I was being pulled off my tethered feet! Yes, the simple, fiendish truth: I had been placed in some form of bag, which in turn had been fixed by a pulley mechanism to the thick metal bar from which Mistress Helen’s clothes were hanging. And now I was hanging from the bar, her slave, her sex object, worth little more than the clothing. A possession, a thing. An abject object.
I felt my body sway, but as I was unable to move a single millimetre, there was nothing I could do to resist this kinky, frightening fate. Then something was pressing against me, from both sides: she was pushing the row of petticoats and slips against my mummified, bagged form and locking me into position!
A sudden sense of terror gripped me. I squealed into the fat, tight panty gag and heard nothing. Just total blackness, total silence, except for the sound of my heart beating and my laboured, desperate breathing. I wondered how air was getting to me, unaware at that time that I had been placed in a SMC ‘punishment bag’ made from the rubber variant of Senso, which came complete with three sets of netted filtering around the head area to allow for proper air flow. I was aware of being very hot – beneath the layers of bondage and restraint, my body was already soaked in sweat. I was also still very aroused, and my poor squeezed, flattened and ringed cock begged even more desperately than usual for release.
But there was one final torment to come, a torment that left me wiggling helplessly and uselessly in what I would later learn was now the absolute darkness of the closet: the steadily building vibrations of the phallus lodged deep within my sissy
arse! And soon, I was lost inside this tormenting, sexed-up entombment in a way I had never previously experienced. With only the most intimate tastes and aromas of my marvellous, beautiful, divine Mistress Helen for company, with my mind already fried by sex and sissy need, I was plunged even deeper into the bottomless whirlpool of absolute submission and cosmic pleasure, my body a tool for the pleasure of others, my own pleasure a weapon to subjugate my every thought and movement.
As my mistress showered, as she dressed, as she did her make-up and hair, I descended deeper into the pit of submission. As she looked at herself in her oval dressing table mirror, a smile of quiet triumph on her gorgeous, voluptuous cherry-red lips, I struggled uselessly just a few feet away, hers in a way that words cannot describe, elated by this further demonstration of female power and my absolute submission to it.
Ten
The second set of events that remains lodged in my mind from the dark, so exciting period of babification occurred on the day before we were due to be transferred to the ‘classrooms’ and enter the second phase of our training – the ‘Junior Housemaid’ programme. On this day I experienced new levels of pleasure and humiliation, and I count it as a pivotal moment in my development as a fully fledged she-male slave.
Given the importance of this day, it is perhaps the best point at which to draw this first part of my story to an end. For on this day, Christina took me for the first time and our sissy love affair truly began. Yes, this was the day that led to all the strange and kinky adventures that were to mark the rest of my time at the SMC academy and my subsequent adventures as the Senior Housemaid for my aunt’s regional branch office of this wondrous company of slaves.
For thirteen days we had been kept in a state of babified bondage, constantly and furiously aroused, relentlessly restrained and tormented, perpetually humiliated. Only the amazing adventure with the amazing Mistress Helen had punctuated my time in the nursery. And on that final morning of babified torment, neither of us had the slightest idea we were soon to be transferred. As noted earlier, our sense of time had been completely undermined. When not being fed or changed, or bathed, we were either strapped tightly into the cot or locked inside the playpen. Most of the time the vibrators were buzzing in our sissy backsides, and we were so turned on that any real understanding of what was going on around us was quite impossible. Of course, there were moments of clarity, which were usually associated with mealtimes. We were fed by either one of the mistresses or a maid. When Mistress Helen returned to feed me my baby lunch the day after my adventure in her closet, I regarded her with a dreadful awe and an angry, even painful desire. The taste of her was still thick on the teat of my dummy and the memory of her cunt and splendid, fat breasts had tormented me all morning. She smiled as I sucked desperately on my large bottle of warm, sugared milk and my eyes devoured her divine form. She even tickled my chin and whispered kinky baby talk and I begged her with my eyes for some form of release from the agony of sexual frustration that was warping my mind. But, of course, she ignored my suffering, returning me to the playpen and setting the vibrator on full power.
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