Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  And he is amazed, stunned, and then terribly, almost sickeningly elated. A huge tidal wave of relief crashes over him, a hard, powerful drug that fills him with a remarkable sense of happiness.

  ‘I thought you’d be disgusted, that I’d have to leave. I…God, I’m so ashamed, so pathetic.’

  ‘There’s no need for all the self-pity,’ Helen says, a tone of slight irritation in her voice. ‘If this is something you want to do, then that’s fine with us. But we really do want to know about it, about all of it. Then we’ll see what we can do to help you.’

  Still stunned by this totally unexpected turn of events, he asks them to sit down and tries to compose himself. Then, over the next hour, he tells them everything, a flood of relieved, desperate confession, a narrative so long suppressed that it virtually explodes from deep within him, a very secret and personal history. He confesses his lifelong desire to cross-dress, his deep sexual need to adopt a feminine persona. He tells them about Christina, about his secret identity and her strange virtual life. He talks about the clothes he is especially attracted to. Then he confesses his attraction to all of them, and his especially deep feelings for Donna. And finally, he reveals the deep core of masochism that lies at the heart of his transvestism, of his desire to be dominated and controlled by beautiful women, to be enslaved and forced to act as the sissiest of she-male maidservants.

  And as he confesses, there isn’t the slightest sign of mockery or contempt amongst the women. Indeed, if he sees anything in their lovely, sexy eyes it is fascination and, amazingly, beneath this fascination, a form of arousal. And in Donna’s lovely eyes he sees something even deeper, something that might even be love.

  At the end of his confessions there is a very brief silence, then Helen rises from her chair and stands over him like an ideal dominatrix, her brown eyes burning into his, a gentle smile filling his tormented heart with a sense of something approaching salvation.

  ‘Well, I think the best way forward is for us to meet Christina,’ she says. ‘And as quickly as possible.’

  At first he stares at her in disbelief. ‘Meet Christina?’ he mumbles. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Come to my house this evening and show us Christina. Bring your favourite outfit, all the make-up you need. Reveal your inner self to us.’

  ‘To all of you?’

  ‘Of course. We all want to meet her, and we all want to help. We can give you tips, show you how to improve her.’

  Helen’s words fill him with a sense of elation, yet also with terrible trepidation. Suddenly the brutal fear, the utterly unforgiving shyness has returned to possess his body and soul.

  ‘I don’t think I could.’

  ‘I’d really like to meet Christina,’ Donna suddenly says.

  He turns to face her, his heart pounding, his mind racing with fear and desire. Today she is dressed in a tight pink sweater, a long black shirt, black hose and a pair of very high-heeled mules. As usual she looks fantastic; as usual the very sight of her gives him an instant erection. Her gorgeous blue eyes are filled with sympathy and arousal.

  ‘It’s time to live,’ Helen adds. ‘If you want to spend the rest of your life locked up in that flat, repressed, overwhelmed by fear, then don’t come. If you want to experience the truth of yourself, to realise your potential and make all your fantasies come true, then come to my house at 6.00 p.m. tonight.’

  He looks into her dark, fiery eyes, into two pools of shining black gold, and he nods.

  ‘Yes. OK. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good,’ Helen says. ‘We’ll see you there. And don’t be late.’

  With this, she turns to leave and her beautiful companions follow her, Donna’s eyes briefly meeting his one more time, her smile a smile of endless promise.

  After they have left he sits perfectly still for a very long time, his heart gradually slowing, a sense of almost surreal calm gradually washing over him. The fear, the terrible, bleak fear that has possessed his life like a crazed demon, fades and then, for the first time in many years, it disappears. A slight smile crosses his thin, feminine face. He can hardly believe this is happening.

  * * *

  He manages to remain in this tranquil state for only a few hours. After lunch he finds himself pondering why Helen and her lovely friends have offered him this wonderful opportunity, why they have been so sympathetic to what is a particularly bizarre sexual tendency. Then the fear quietly returns, and with it a sudden, vicious paranoia. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, there is a darker motive behind Helen’s invitation. Perhaps the full revelation of Christina at the house is merely a means to ensure a more complete and inescapable humiliation. But then he remembers their words, their voices, their eyes. There is no evidence, no real proof of such a sinister motivation.

  He leaves work early, unable to concentrate on anything except the night ahead. By the time he gets home, a cool terror sweat is covering his body and his hands are shaking with an intense trepidation.

  He spends over thirty minutes in the shower, carefully re-shaving, soaping and scenting his girlish body. Dressed only in a very short Chinese silk dressing-gown, he selects a deliberately provocative and very sexy outfit from his secret wardrobe. First of all, a black satin panelled cross-dresser’s corselette, a beautifully intricate device designed to provide an essential underlying feminine figure, complete with special padding at the hips and crotch, a very well-padded bra section and a very tight waist section. After this, he selects a pair of black silk panties frilled with delicate red French lace and a pair of very sheer black nylon tights. Next comes a shimmering black silk blouse, with beautiful puffed sleeves and black pearl buttons and a sexy black leather mini-skirt. Then, a pair of four-inch, stiletto-heeled court shoes made from gleaming black patent leather. This is followed by a beautiful blonde wig styled in the sultry fashion of the great fifties film stars, the favourite of his ten carefully maintained wigs. Finally, he selects his favourite jewellery and fills a pink make-up bag with the items essential for the creation of Christina. All this is then carefully packed into a large sports bag.

  On the bus to Helen’s house, the address taken earlier from his personnel files, the fear grips him yet again and he seriously considers turning back. But Helen’s words of encouragement give him the strength to overcome the fear, the pathological shyness, her words and the memory of Donna’s beautiful eyes.

  It is a few minutes after 6.00 p.m. by the time Chris nervously walks into the very exclusive cul-de-sac where Helen lives. He can hardly believe his eyes when he reaches the driveway to her home and quickly rechecks the number on the crumpled sheet of paper in his pocket. But sure enough, he has the right house, a huge, Edwardian five-bedroomed monster, left to Helen by a rich and very guilty husband as a suitable divorce settlement – that and a very handsome monthly allowance.

  In the driveway are Helen’s beautiful Audi sports car, Anne’s brand-new Peugeot 206 and Donna’s slightly battered Ford estate. Seeing the cars only adds to the sense of panic and fear that tries to push him back down the road and onto the first bus into town. But he manages to force himself forwards to the door, where, with a hot, shaking hand, he uses a large brass knocker to announce his arrival.

  Barely has the knocker struck wood than the door swings open and he finds himself facing Helen. Helen, looking totally stunning in a very tight, short black dress, black hose and stiletto-heeled mules, her hair flowing freely over her shoulders, her blood-red lips curved into a warm smile of welcome, her dark brown eyes filled with an amused anticipation.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to come, Chris. You won’t regret it. Come in.’

  He can only nod weakly and follow her into the long, beautifully decorated corridor of this exotic, plush house. As he walks behind her, his eyes pinned to her long, elegant legs and their slow, graceful movement, he is also already violently erect, his heart pounding in his head, a tense, sticky fear sweat staining his forehead.

  Helen leads him into the living room, a
huge, perfectly square space filled with beautiful, expensive furniture, large, lace-curtained windows overlooking the spacious driveway and a stunning, ornate fireplace. Donna, still dressed in her lovely pink sweater and long pencil skirt, is sitting on a tan leather sofa drinking a glass of wine. Anne, now dressed in a pair of very tight black leather trousers, an equally tight white nylon sweater and a pair of very high-heeled stilettos, is standing with her back to the fireplace, also with a glass of wine, her lovely red hair a halo of sinful intent, her emerald eyes fixing Chris with a particularly intimidating gaze.

  Donna asks him to sit down beside her. He does so nervously, placing the sports bag at his feet. Her powerful musk perfume washes over him and his erection stretches even more angrily against his trousers as she places a long, elegant hand on his knee.

  ‘There’s no need to be frightened, Chris.’

  Helen, pouring herself a glass of wine, nods and moves closer to him. ‘Try and relax, Chris. All we want to do is help you.’

  Surprisingly, Chris finds himself vaguely irritated by her tone. ‘Why?’ he says. ‘Why do you want to help me?’

  ‘Because we’re interested in you,’ Anne suddenly interjects. ‘Because it gives us pleasure.’

  Helen nods, her eyes meeting Anne’s, her smile widening. ‘It’s that simple, Chris. We enjoy exploring new avenues.’

  She then comes over and sits next to him. Suddenly he is sandwiched between the two women who have fuelled so many of his sexual fantasies. Again, a sense of fear and unreality is quickly crushed by the brutal power of his desire.

  ‘We won’t offer you a drink,’ Helen continues. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate. In fact, it would probably be best if I showed you the room where you can change and we get straight on with meeting Christina.’

  And so Chris follows Helen from the room, the smell of Donna still tormenting him. Helen leads him up a wide staircase to a first-floor landing, then down a corridor lined with doors. The room is at the end of the corridor, a large, sparsely decorated bedroom with a double bed, a built-in wardrobe and a dressing table.

  ‘The spare room,’ Helen says. ‘A bit Spartan, but it’ll do for now. The bathroom is just opposite, so if you need to shower, etc, feel free. We’ll see you downstairs a little later.’

  With this, she leaves him alone in the room. He remains standing, not moving, gazing nervously around the room for five very painful minutes. Now the fear is at its height: this is the moment of truth, his last real opportunity to escape the revelation of Christina. He places the sports bag down on the bed and turns to face the dressing table. He sits on the small leather-backed stool by the table and stares at his reflection in the oval mirror. Then he remembers Helen’s earlier words: it’s time to live, to truly experience life. And that, he knows, means truly to experience himself, or rather, perhaps, herself.

  He returns to the bed and opens the sports bag. He stares at its sexy contents and then begins to undress. Soon he is naked and looking down at his stiff, desperate sex. This is the very essence of every desire, his life quite literally bared. As he takes the corselette from the bag, his sex rubs against its soft, silken surface and a moan of helpless pleasure escapes his lips. It is only now, when the power of pure physical pleasure has transcended all fear, that the transformation from Chris into Christina truly begins.

  With the corselette drawn over his lean, surprisingly muscular body, he feels the first exquisite transformative effects of the dressing. With its carefully and very realistically padded bra section, he experiences the glorious pulling sensation of a full, feminine bosom. His erection is already hidden in the soft padding of the crotch region of the corselette, but as he adjusts the bra he feels the fierce, rock-hard meat burn into the woollen padding and demand some form of release and again cannot avoid a moan of the most intense pleasure.

  After the corselette comes his very favourite moment in this erotic ritual: the slow, teasing entrapment of his long, silky-smooth legs in the sheerest black nylon tights. Each movement now is careful, elegant and feminine and, as he guides the tights up his legs, a little more of Christina is revealed. As the soft, gentle and intensely pleasurable material slides over his legs, it is as if Christina is washing over Chris, as if a doubtful, tormented personality is being replaced by a calm, sensual and totally relaxed personality as if a skin is being shed.

  Once the tights are firmly in place, he rises from the bed, gently smoothing the sublime nylon material over his thighs and knees. He takes a few dainty, feminine steps, his whole body movement now changed, and smiles helplessly. Christina is now firmly in control! Then he takes the super-soft, ultra-sexy black silk panties from the sports bag and elegantly steps into them, pulling them up his hosed legs and around his tightly restrained waist with a sigh of pleasure.

  The dressing is then suspended while he applies his make-up. Sitting at the dressing table staring at his reflection like an artist considering his model, he applies a light tan foundation cream, taken from the pink make-up bag, to his freshly shaven, smooth face. As he massages out the already weak male angles in his cheekbones, he finds himself marvelling, as he always does, at the ease of this profound change: just a few drops of foundation and already his indistinct masculinity has been destroyed.

  Satisfied with the smooth base created by the foundation cream, he quickly applies highlighter to his eyebrows and then attaches a pair of very long, vampish false lashes to his eyelids. After a touch of pale blue eye-shadow, he applies peach-coloured rouge to both of his cheeks. Already he is staring at the early form of Christina, a pretty she-boy with short hair whose lovely sky-blue eyes twinkle with a helplessly feminine desire. And as he carefully applies a strawberry-coloured lipstick to his full, inescapably girlish mouth, as he teasingly runs the soft tip of the stick over his equally soft lips, Christina becomes stronger, clearer, more sharply in focus.

  With the make-up complete, he rises from the stool and elegantly minces back to the bed, his tightly pantied and hosed buttocks swaying with a quite deliberate and provocative femininity. From the sports bag, he takes the glorious blonde wig and the items of jewellery. He then returns to the dressing table. Placing the jewellery on the table, he takes a deep, infinitely pleasurable breath and carefully pulls the thick blonde wig over his own close-cropped hair.

  He has created Christina many times before, but as he positions the spectacular wig over his head, he knows there has never been a transformation like this. In a few minutes he will reveal his feminine persona to three beautiful women; for the first time, Christina will truly step out of the closet. A sweet, sexy smile crosses his lovely face as he contemplates both this exciting fact and the stunning image that is staring back at him from the mirror. He beholds a beautiful blue-eyed blonde with a full, sensual mouth and a long, slender swan’s neck. As usual, he is both elated and disturbed by the success of the transformation. As usual, he regrets the blinding shyness and fear that has prevented him from stepping out into the world, from meeting other TVs socially, even just arranging for a photo to send to the gorgeous Annette.

  Satisfied with the position of the wig, he carefully attaches two emerald clip-on earrings to his ears and wraps a band of silver-grey pearls around his neck. Then he once again rises from the dressing table stool and returns to the bed. From the sports bag he carefully extracts the beautiful black silk blouse and the matching leather mini-skirt. After laying them out carefully on the bed, he pulls the stiletto-heeled court shoes from the bag and places them on the floor. His erection burns into the soft but very firm fabric of the corselette, but thanks to the clever use of padding it remains completely invisible. As he takes up the blouse, a moan of helpless pleasure slips from his glistening, painted lips.

  The caress of the silk against his bare arms is like a thousand teasing kisses, a brutally erotic caress that leaves no alternative but an intense, almost painful physical pleasure and a further deepening of the sense of sissy femininity that is gradually possessing his b
ody and soul. And once it is buttoned up to the top of its high-collared neck, he steps into the tight black leather skirt and pulls it into position around his slender waist, a very arousing, but also relatively simple process.

  Then there is the final startling element of the transformation, the final item of feminine attire that signals the true realisation of Christina. He takes the four-inch stiletto-heeled court shoes in his hands and sits down on the bed. He delicately crosses his sheer black nylon-encased legs and slips the first gleaming, black patent leather shoe over his right foot. He then repeats this process with his left foot and, with a tiny moan of apprehension, stands up. Suddenly elevated by four inches, a familiar sense of sensual dizziness washes over his intricately feminised body. He takes a tentative step forwards and it is almost as if he has walked through an invisible barrier into the dimension where Christina lives. Then he is suddenly taking the tiny mincing steps that the elegant, sexy shoes seem to demand, steps that create a helpless wiggle of his hips and an erotic swaying of his backside which is teasingly enhanced by the tight black leather skirt. As he moves so effeminately around the room, he revels in the electric tingle of nylon against nylon as his thighs rub together and the gentle caress of the sheer silk blouse against his upper body. Then there is the wonderful sense of counter-balance induced by the expertly padded brassiere section of the corselette. As this substantial chest sways, it seems to do so in a complex syncopation with his bottom and hips, a syncopation whose fundamental rhythm is set by the quick step demanded by the stiletto heels. And the result of this intricate interaction is the most erotic and provocative of sissy walks, a walk he has perfected with the obsessive enthusiasm that lies at the heart of Christina.