Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  He minces from the room in a state of ecstatic terror, his heart pounding fearfully yet joyously. As he carefully descends the stairs of this large, plush house, his sense of helpless femininity is almost overwhelming, as is his sense of terrible yet erotic trepidation about his exposure before Helen, Donna and Anne. As he reaches the ground floor and approaches the doorway into the living room, he wonders if this is in fact some elaborate deception designed to expose him as a pervert and ensure his absolute humiliation. He imagines entering the room and being submerged in the blinding white light of camera flash-bulbs and the deafening roar of mocking laughter. Yet this fear is nothing compared with the excitement he feels, the excitement and intense sexual arousal inspired by his imminent exposure.

  Then, in this state of high anxiety, so carefully and wonderfully feminised, his heart leaping desperately into his mouth, he enters the living room.

  Donna is standing by the fireplace. Anne is sitting reading a magazine. Helen is gazing with an expression of boredom out of the large front windows. And it is Donna who sees him first, Donna who nearly drops her half-full glass of wine in amazement, Donna, whose look of surprise suddenly turns into a wide, generous smile.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she almost cries out, ‘you’re beautiful.’

  Helen spins around and, although there is no exclamation of surprise, it is clear she is taken aback by the scale of Chris’s transformation. Anne rises from her seat, an impressed smile slowly spreading across her gorgeous face, a smile spiced with conspiracy and, ultimately, cruelty.

  Helen and Donna immediately walk over to him, while Anne remains by the seat, her eyes appraising, cool, considering a mysterious future.

  ‘I’m very impressed, Chris – you look quite stunning,’ Helen says, her lovely dark brown eyes feasting on this striking she-male manifestation.

  He smiles weakly and nods, his voice trapped in a vice of sudden nervous fear, despite his considerable inner elation.

  ‘You must have been doing this for a long time,’ Donna adds, her own eyes filled not only with surprise but with a very real arousal. ‘It must have taken a lot of practice to look this good.’

  The two women examine him very carefully, asking questions about his figure, his make-up, his clothes – questions he answers slowly, shakily, still unable to believe this is really happening to him.

  ‘You’ve got fantastic legs,’ Donna says. ‘The tights really show them off well.’

  He virtually swoons at this lovely compliment. Then, to his amazement, Donna rests a hand on his right thigh and begins to caress his hosed skin, a teasing and very suggestive smile on her gorgeous face, her blue eyes burning into his. He fights to maintain his balance, his erection now a rod of molten iron burning into the heart of his very being.

  ‘We can help you,’ Helen says. ‘With your make-up, your deportment, your dress. You’ve obviously come a very long way but, if you want, we can take you further.’

  He looks at her, knowing now that there is no secret plot against him, that these beautiful women are genuine in their desire to develop his feminisation.

  ‘I’d love that,’ he says. ‘It would be all my dreams come true.’

  Donna removes her wayward hand and steps back to get a clearer view of the beautiful she-male. His own eyes drink her up, her splendid, petite figure, her perfect poise, her lovely clothes, her promising, eternal smile. How much I want you, he thinks. And how much I love you.

  ‘That’s what we do,’ Donna jokes, ‘make dreams come true.’

  Three

  Virtually as soon as Chris accepts the offer of help to develop Christina further, Helen leads him to the large leather sofa and asks him to sit between Donna and herself, thus directly facing Anne. Almost instinctively, Chris finds himself elegantly crossing his long, black nylon-sheathed legs and wallowing in the vaguely jealous glare this inspires in the gorgeous redhead.

  ‘Before we proceed,’ Helen says, ‘we need to know you are absolutely serious. If we are to allow Christina to reach her true potential, we will require you to submit to our authority completely. This is not just a matter of feminisation, it is also a question of enslavement. You’ve told us of your desire to be feminised and dominated, to live your life as a sissified servant of beautiful women. Well, if we develop Christina, it will be as our personal maidservant. Not only will we train you in the arts of dress, make-up and deportment, but also in the domestic arts essential for a slave girl and, of course, certain very fundamental sexual skills with which you will pleasure us. This will require your absolute and unquestioning surrender to our every word. Are you really prepared to go this far?’

  Chris listens to Helen with increasing astonishment and arousal. This is indeed a dream come true, the wildest, sexiest dream he has ever had!

  ‘Yes,’ he replies, with an uncharacteristic confidence. ‘I want to go all the way. It’s all I’ve ever truly wanted. I want to be your slave; I want it more than anything else.’

  ‘Even if it means giving up everything you have – your job, your flat, all your possessions?’

  Again, a confident nod. ‘Yes, absolutely.’

  A slight smile crosses Helen’s lovely face. ‘Then we’ll start immediately. You will spend each workday evening and each weekend of the next fortnight undergoing induction training at this house. At the end of this period you will be required to take two weeks’ leave, so that you can begin detailed training. This will be carried out on a twenty-four-hour basis here and at the homes of Donna and Anne. During the coming two weeks, you will be permitted to continue to attend work, but there will be the strictest expectation that you will remain fully feminised at all times beneath your male work clothing. During the two weeks of detailed instruction, you will be permanently feminised.’

  Chris listens to Helen in amazement. It is now quite clear that she has been planning this since his earlier tearful confession, that for some strange reason of her own she and her beautiful associates are bent on realising all of his deepest dreams and transforming him into a sissy maidservant.

  ‘For the rest of this evening,’ Helen continues, ‘you will serve us. Now you may indicate your acceptance of your enslavement by kneeling down and kissing our feet.’

  This first command is delivered with an erotic authority, and he instantly obeys, rising from the sofa with a series of careful, delicate movements, gently smoothing out his short, leather mini-skirt and then slowly, almost teasingly, lowering himself to his hosed knees before Helen, making sure as he does so that his skirt slowly rises up his backside and his hosed and pantied behind is fully exposed to Anne.

  Helen kicks off her high-heeled court shoes and stretches out two shapely feet sealed in sheer grey nylon, her cherry-red toenails clearly visible through the sensual film of hose. Now on his knees, he leans forwards and places a long, passionate kiss on each foot, loving the feel of the warm nylon and hot flesh against his lips, plunging himself into aromas of feminine sweat and scented soap mixed with the residue perfume of the leather shoes, then moaning with the most masochistic pleasure as he turns his attention to Donna’s outstretched and now shoeless feet. Sensually imprisoned in the sheerest black nylon, her pink toenails erotically apparent, her feet are petite masterpieces which he worships with long kisses, kisses which turn Donna’s initial girlish giggle into a slow-burning moan of pleasure. How desperately he wants to spend the rest of his life in this position of absolute servitude, prostrate before the true goddess of his strange, utterly unyielding desire. I am yours, he says to himself. Absolutely and forever. Yet even as he thinks this, a foot has slipped between his hosed buttocks and is pushing against his crotch. Anne, it seems, is getting bored with waiting. And so he turns from Donna’s exquisite feet and positions himself subserviently before Anne. Tall, slender, regal Anne, her red hair a burning beacon of her fiery, unforgiving nature, her emerald-green eyes staring into his with a truly frightening intensity.

  Like the others, she has kicked off her shoes and stretc
hed out two elegant, delicately hosed feet. This hose is of a very fine pink nylon and heavily scented. As he places his painted lips against the surface of the sheer fabric, it is almost as if he has received a tiny but powerful electric shock, a harbinger of the cruel adventures that he will have with this beautiful, quite wicked woman.

  In a state of supreme arousal, Chris is then ordered to stand. He does so with a series of almost balletic movements, his natural feminine grace once again clearly impressing the women.

  ‘Now you must pledge to serve us, Chris,’ Helen announces. ‘Agree to follow every instruction and obey every commend without question.’

  ‘I pledge to serve you in any way you wish without question,’ he says, his voice hoarse with desire, but showing no signs of fear or doubt.

  ‘From now on,’ Helen continues, ‘you will address each of us as Mistress. During these first stages of your training, you will be known as Chrissie. When we feel you have demonstrated the necessary attributes of a true she-male maidservant you will be known as Christina. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  ‘Good. You will also be required to acknowledge each instruction with a curtsey. Do you understand?’

  He demonstrates his understanding by performing a very dainty curtsey that produces a look of sheer delight from Donna and a smile of quiet satisfaction from Helen.

  His maid duties begin immediately. Helen tells him to go to the kitchen and open, then serve a bottle of wine currently located in the fridge. Once again, he curtseys his understanding. Then he wiggle-minces to the kitchen, deliberately exaggerating each ultra-feminine movement for the amusement of his new mistresses. He quickly retrieves the bottle, opens it and returns. Then, curtseying sweetly before each mistress as he does so, he refills the glasses, hesitating before Donna as their eyes momentarily lock in a gaze of powerful mutual attraction.

  ‘From today you will be forbidden to drink any alcohol or any other form of stimulant, including tea or coffee,’ Helen says, watching the exchange with Donna. ‘Tomorrow I will give you a special diet plan, which you will stick to rigidly.’

  Turning from Donna, he curtseys his understanding, thrilled by the way Helen is seizing control of his life. Then he turns to refill Anne’s glass. As he does so, the gorgeous redhead, her eyes drinking up his delicate, feminised form, suddenly pulls the glass away. Chris reacts quickly, but not before Anne’s trousers are splashed with wine.

  Anne leaps up and begins brushing angrily at the stain. Poor Chris apologises, despite knowing that the spillage was not his fault.

  ‘You stupid girl!’ Anne snaps. ‘You’ve ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers. How on earth do you expect to become a proper maidservant when you can’t even pour a glass of wine?’

  Then, to his amazement, she grabs the bottle from his hands, places it on the coffee table by her chair and takes a very firm hold of his thin, slender wrists. She then forces his arms behind his back and pushes him over the leather arm of the chair, causing his skirt to rise up his long, nylon-enveloped thighs, thus exposing his pert pantied and hosed backside to the view of all three women.

  He has had so many fantasies of being spanked, of being taken across a beautiful woman’s knee in such an intricately feminised state and soundly thrashed, but as Anne begins to deliver a series of very hard slaps to his bottom, reality proves itself rather more painful than fantasy. Within a few seconds, the spanking brings tears to his eyes and soon his poor backside is wriggling furiously under the barrage of blows. By the time she has finished, his backside feels as if it is on fire and tears are pouring from his lovely blue eyes. He is then pulled to his feet and turned to face Helen. Through tear-stained eyes he notices that Donna is staring at him in an even more aroused state.

  ‘From now on, any perceived failing on your part will be instantly punished,’ Helen says, clearly excited by the spectacle of Chris’s suffering. ‘A spanking will be the most common form of punishment, but there are many more ways to deal with your naughtiness, Chrissie, and I am sure you will get to experience quite a lot of them.’

  Yet even as she details his future sufferings, Chris’s eyes are drying and the pain in his hosed backside is turning into a strangely pleasurable heat, a heat that travels from his buttocks, between his legs and then into his still very stiff sex. Then, as the heat reaches its deeply arousing peek, the pain is forgotten, and he is gripped by a new, intense pleasure.

  For the rest of the evening, he serves the women with a deep, sissy enthusiasm, helping Helen and Donna prepare a meal, then serving it to his three lovely mistresses via a ballet of careful, ultra-feminine movements. Throughout this highly exciting adventure, he receives constant advice from the women on movement and general deportment and at least one hard slap to his backside from Anne for failing to obey her instructions. The general tone of the women quickly changes from one of fascination and sympathy to command and dominance. Now he is simply the sissy maid and, the more curt and hash their instructions become, the more excited he feels.

  After the meal, he is left to struggle with the washing up and then made to clean the kitchen very thoroughly. By 10.30 p.m., he is exhausted, having been denied any food or drink since he arrived. Following a teasing inspection by Helen, he is grudgingly congratulated on his domestic skills and told he can go.

  ‘There’s no need to change,’ she adds. ‘Donna wishes to take you home in her car. Your clothes are in your bag in the corridor. You can leave your make-up here. I will talk to you again at work in the morning, and you will be expected to report here tomorrow evening at 6.30 p.m. promptly.’

  Chris delicately curtseys his understanding and follows the lovely, regal Helen out into the living room where Donna is waiting for him, a soft, sexy smile igniting her beautiful face, her eyes filled with a powerful desire.

  Chris notices that Anne appears to have left. He performs a final farewell curtsey for Helen and then follows Donna from the room.

  Donna leads her pretty sissy charge down the long corridor, his eyes pinned helplessly to the long, tight skirt and the wonderfully accentuating effect it has on her shapely, swaying bottom. Then, suddenly, they are both out in the cool night air. Chris can hardly believe it: he is outside fully dressed as Christina! A sense of nervous elation washes over him as his high heels strike the concrete surface of the driveway. This is surely the most exciting moment of his life!

  Anne’s car has gone and this makes access to Donna’s somewhat battered Ford much easier. She opens the front passenger door for him and gently helps him to slip modestly into the leather seat. As he carefully adjusts his short leather skirt, Donna climbs into the driver’s seat beside him. Without a word, she then places a hand onto his hosed thigh and then slips it beneath his skirt. He gasps with pleasure as her hand seeks out his well-hidden sex.

  ‘Where is it?’ she laughs, moving closer to him.

  ‘There’s a lot of padding in my underwear,’ he gasps, his erection struggling angrily into the warm prison of the panty corselette.

  Then she is kissing him, her hot, soft mouth pressing against his, her tongue deep in his mouth. They embrace, his hands seek out her plump, perfectly shaped breasts through the tight sweater. She moans into his mouth. Then she is pulling away.

  ‘Not yet – not here.’

  She composes herself and starts the car. Soon they are on the road, heading back to his flat.

  ‘It was like kissing a real woman, Chris,’ she eventually says. ‘And it turned me on terribly. I’m soaking wet.’

  He is so aroused he cannot reply. His heart is fit to burst out of his padded bra, and suddenly breathing is very difficult. All he can taste is her, all he can smell is the powerful scent of her splendid, perfumed body, all he can see is the vision of sensual feminine beauty he has secretly worshipped for such a very long time.

  He crosses his long, nylon-sheathed legs and feels the intense fetishistic pleasure of this expert feminisation mix with his furious passion for Donna
. Her eyes momentarily stray from the road and he feels an incredible sense of deeply feminine pride as she whispers her admiration in a sex-charged, husky voice.

  ‘I’m so jealous of those legs. You should be banned from wearing trousers and kept in tights permanently.’

  Her teasing words produce a gasp of helpless, mad pleasure.

  ‘Would you like that?’ she asks, knowing full well what his answer will be, her pale blue eyes filled with a playful and deeply erotic amusement.

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ he gasps. ‘Especially if you put me in hem.’