Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  Chris stares in disbelief at the power of even this incomplete transformation. Where he had tried so hard for a classic feminine authenticity in Christina’s makeup, Donna has quite brilliantly created the impression of a natural feminine beauty. It is almost as if it is not make-up that has been applied, but a new face!

  ‘It’s amazing,’ he mumbles. ‘You’ve made me seem so…real.’

  ‘I’ve just brought out your natural femininity a bit more, Chrissie. You are real. You’re a girl at heart. It’s so obvious.’

  As he stares at her through the mirror, Helen steps forwards to fill the reflection with her stunning, ample presence, a triumphant smile on her beautiful face.

  ‘This is brilliant, Donna. Well done. Put the wig on and we have the perfect she-male.’

  As Helen’s teasing, husky tones fill his sissy ears, Chris watches as Donna takes what looks like a large pink hat box from beneath the dressing table, removes the oval lid and carefully takes from inside it a stunning black wig, a thick mass of carefully styled brunette locks, surprisingly long, that seem to meet at a perfectly oval plateau with a square front. Almost immediately, he recognises this classic style.

  ‘Bettie Page,’ he whimpers.

  Donna smiles, obviously impressed. ‘Yes. Helen chose it. I’ve never heard of her.’

  Helen steps forwards and takes the wig from Donna.

  ‘Yes, Bettie. I’ve always been a great fan, and I’m pretty sure Chrissie has, too.’

  Chris can only nod in astonishment as Helen then carefully places the wig over his own close-cropped hair, adding a further wonderful touch to this startling transformation. And as the wig is pulled gently into place, the power of the resemblance between the image that these two women have created and the legendary fetish model is immediately apparent: they have very successfully performed a quite deliberate act of beautiful pastiche.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Helen whispers, her eyes meeting his through the mirror.

  He can only agree with her simple analysis and sigh with a deep, erotic pleasure. Before him is a truly beautiful, sensual woman, a gorgeous sex-bomb created in the image of a true goddess.

  Yet even now the transformation is incomplete. Overseen by Helen, Donna proceeds to add to this changeling masterpiece a pair of clip-on diamond stud earrings and a set of long, blood-red false nails, peripheral touches to a vision of ultra-feminine glamour. Finally, his neck and arms are covered in a very powerful and obviously expensive perfume.

  Satisfied that this stage of their work is complete, the two women help Chris back onto his feet and guide him across the room and back to the bed. Once again he is overwhelmed by feelings of intense feminine submission produced by the small steps and helpless wiggle created by the corselette, and he cannot avoid a small moan of intense pleasure.

  At the bed, Donna takes up the stunning black satin dress and holds it against his body. He squirms with helpless pleasure.

  ‘Oh, dear, you really are turned on, aren’t you?’ she teases, her eyes filled with an almost sadistic pleasure at the sight of her lover’s erotic suffering.

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ he mumbles, his cock straining with an increasing fury in its delicate nylon prison.

  ‘Remember,’ Helen says, a smile spreading across her gorgeous face, ‘the slightest sign of naughtiness down below and your bottom will be stinging for days.’

  Her words are, of course, designed not to prevent further excitement but to inspire it and poor Chris can only produce a tiny, tormented curtsey of understanding and fight an increasing urge to come, an urge which is only increased as Donna carefully unfastens the black pearl buttons running down the back of the stunning satin dress and then holds it open for him to step into.

  She pulls the soft, scented dress up his delicately feminised body with a sigh of pleasure. The dress is truly beautiful: cut from the finest black satin and carefully decorated with a pattern of elegant crafted black silk roses. It is very short, and billowing out from beneath the tiny skirt is a cloud of gorgeous, very fine white lace petticoating which, when positioned over his waist, has the effect of pushing the skirt up at almost a right ankle to his hosed legs and exposing his heavily frilled, black silk panties to full view. The dress is pulled over his expertly padded chest and Helen helps him slide his silky smooth arms into the long sleeves, each of which is elegantly puffed out at the upper arms and shoulder areas and trimmed at the wrist section with more beautiful white lace. As the dress is guided up to his neck, he feels it tighten around his body, a perfect fit which accentuates his considerable bosom. The neck of the dress is very high and also frilled with white lace, and the row of pearl buttons runs from the top of the rear of the neck right down to the base of his back. It takes Donna nearly five minutes to secure each button, increasing the tight, figure-hugging fit of the dress quite considerably as she does so.

  ‘Rather ingenious, really,’ Helen says, her eyes glued to Donna’s patient efforts. ‘You’re literally imprisoned: the pattern of the buttoning means it’s virtually impossible to remove the dress without help.’

  Chris revels in her teasing words and feels a sense of genuine, absolute enslavement. Yes, he is very tightly imprisoned in feminine frillies and he is loving every moment of it.

  Once the dress is secured, Donna takes up the large, cream silk, white lace-frilled pinafore and carefully places it over the lovely dress, slipping a thin silk strap over Chris’s beautifully wigged head and then tying the two very thick ribbons affixed to the waist section in a very fat and dainty bow at the base of his back. Helen then carefully pins the delightful white lace maid’s cap to the gleaming centre of the spectacular Bettie Page wig.

  ‘He looks incredible,’ Donna whispers to Helen, as the women stand back to admire their handiwork.

  ‘Yes,’ Helen says, her eyes drinking up this sexy she-male confection. ‘He does. But this is only the beginning. Can you get the shoes?’

  Donna then slowly bends down before the bed, making sure as she does so that her short pink skirt rises up her long, white nylon-sheathed legs and that poor, tormented Chris gets a spectacular view of her hosed, pantied and very shapely backside. From beneath the bed she takes another pink box, which she places on the bed. She removes the rectangular lid to reveal a truly stunning pair of black patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes. As she pulls them from the box, Chris immediately notices that the heels on the shoes are at least six inches – far higher than anything he has ever worn. Fear and desire are mixed into a potent sex brew that seems to be boiling over inside his sex as Donna holds the shoes before him with a teasing smile.

  ‘Six-inch heels; rather higher than anything you’ve tried before, Chrissie,’ Helen says. ‘As our maidservant, you will be required to wear the highest heels at all times, so it’s important you get used to them as quickly as possible.’

  Donna places the beautiful, gleaming shoes at his hosed feet and, without a word of instruction, he carefully steps into them. He gasps in amazement as he is immediately made half a foot taller. The heels themselves are razor-sharp stilettos that make balancing a very precarious and constant effort. Chris quickly finds himself swaying fearfully and instinctively reaches out for Donna’s helping hand. The heels are made even more dangerous by the strange set of restrictions and weights imparted by the corselette.

  ‘The key is to find the checks and balances,’ Helen says. ‘There is a point, a very fine point, where your new shape and the heels meet in perfect unison – a sissy centre of gravity. All you have to do is find that point. And the only way you can do that is to walk in the shoes.’

  Still holding Donna’s hand, he tries to take a step. Almost immediately, he loses his balance and topples forwards, but Donna manages to pull him back from the abyss. He smiles fearfully and takes another step, this one successful. Then another. And then he feels it, the strange union of the downwards pressure applied by the false breasts, the rigid counterbalancing posture demanded by the tight corset and the erotic bala
ncing act enforced by the heels. By taking very small steps, by wiggling his hips and backside, by holding his hands carefully at his sides, it is indeed possible to find a small portion of time and space where it is possible to walk, or rather mince, in the shoes. Yet this is more than a walk – this is a pretty, visual demonstration of his absolute sissification. Suddenly, he is tottering forwards in the sweetest, daintiest manner imaginable, his frilled bottom swaying with a helpless provocation, his large, false breasts bouncing beneath their layers of tight, sensual restriction. And within a few minutes he is almost confident in his tiny, sissy steps, and he is revelling in the intense sense of helpless femininity each high-heeled movement inspires.

  ‘Very good,’ Helen says, her eyes betraying surprise. ‘I thought it would take you much longer to get used to the shoes. You really do have a natural affinity for feminisation.’

  He slowly turns and minces back to Helen. He stops before her and then attempts a short, quick curtsey. This, however, is far too ambitious, and as his delicately hosed knees bend he loses his balance completely and falls heavily onto his backside, leaving his legs splayed before him and his sexy undies on full, hilarious display.

  Laughing loudly, Donna and Helen help him back onto his feet.

  ‘We’ll have to work on the curtsey, I think,’ Donna says, her smile both warm and cruel.

  And so for fifteen minutes, Donna tutors her she-male love slave in the art of curtseying in very high heels, playfully slapping the back of his sheer black nylon-sheathed thighs as he fails to follow her instructions. Helen leaves the room after a few minutes of this sissy circus, returning a little later to discover Chris curtseying deeply and confidently, a proud, aroused smile on his face.

  ‘Well, I think it’s time we set our little sissy to work,’ Helen says. ‘But I think we should show her what a little cutie she’s turned out to be, first.’

  The two women guide Chris from the room, down the corridor and into another much larger bedroom. With each tiny mince, he becomes more confident in his movements. It is as if he has been injected with a drug that is gradually turning him into the sissiest, daintiest she-male ever created, and that with each tiny step its effects are becoming more intense, more irreversible.

  The large bedroom belongs to Helen. It is a beautiful, simply decorated room whose main feature is a huge oval bed covered in white silk sheets. An ornate white dressing table has been placed by a far wall, next to a large walk-in closet. The only other item of furniture is a very tall, full-size mirror that is currently standing on a white rug in the dead centre of the room. The two women lead Chris up to the mirror and for the first time he is able to see the vision of sissy subservience they have created.

  A gasp of genuine amazement escapes his carefully painted lips. He is facing a tall, very beautiful woman with long, perfectly shaped legs, her substantial bosom straining against a very sexy French maid’s uniform which barely reaches the top of her hosed thighs and whose sexy black silk panties are visible through a mist of fine white lace petticoating. Her full, sensual lips curve into a smile of astonishment, her long eyelashes flutter with girlish excitement. Two white silk ribbons run from the edges of her sweet maid’s cap and travel down a gleaming, thick waterfall of long, black hair that spills onto her soft shoulders. A perfect and classic image of submissive femininity. Yes, Chris is amazed.

  ‘I can’t believe it. This is so realistic,’ he says.

  ‘All we’ve done is reveal what’s been there all along,’ Helen whispers. ‘And remember: this is only the beginning. If you let us, we can turn you into a perfect she-male.’

  ‘I want that,’ he replies, turning to face her. ‘I want that so much. I never want to be a man again. I want to be like this forever.’

  Helen laughs. ‘You were never a man, Chrissie. But if you behave yourself and do what we tell you, you’ll never have to pretend to be a man again.’

  Five

  Following the incredible revelation, Donna and Helen lead their wiggle-mincing slave from the bedroom to the stairs. Descending the stairs is a new, precarious test for Chris and each ultra-high-heeled step, assisted by his two mistresses, brings a girlish gasp of fear.

  ‘Nice and slowly, Chrissie,’ Donna encourages. ‘You’ll soon get the idea.’

  By the time they reach the bottom of the stairs, Chris is sweating and his heart is pounding. A wave of relief washes over him as he is subsequently led to the living room.

  Anne is waiting in the living room. Dressed in a very tight white nylon sweater, figure-hugging black leather slacks and high-heeled ankle boots, she is a vision of elegant dominance. Her thick, glistening red hair bound in a tight bun, her lips painted a light peach, she beholds him with beautiful green eyes that seem to burn into the core of his sissy soul. There is a painful and strange silence as Chris is brought before Anne. He performs a deep, sexy curtsey and then stands rigidly to attention.

  ‘Incredible,’ Anne whispers. ‘He’s stunning. I mean…Well, I don’t know what I mean.’

  Helen laughs. ‘Yes, it’s really rather difficult to believe.’

  Anne continues to stare at the she-male in amazement.

  ‘There is wine in the fridge, Chrissie,’ Helen says. ‘You’ll find the glasses and tray in the usual place.’

  Chris curtsies once more and minces off to the kitchen, very much aware of Anne’s emerald eyes drinking up his long hosed legs and the dead straight seams that mark out their simple perfection.

  He takes the chilled wine from the fridge and fills the three glasses resting on a silver tray by the sink. He is now deeply aware of every movement and attempts to ensure that each is as feminine and graceful as possible. It is almost as if he has been possessed, that since his presentation to Anne, his true feminine essence is finally seizing complete control of his body, and that the sensations produced by this possession produce a shockingly intense, all-pervasive pleasure. As he minces back into the living room, the tray held before him, he knows he has never been happier.

  The three women are now all seated and Chris totters up to Helen, performs an impressively balletic curtsey and leans forwards to allow his beautiful, fiery-eyed mistress to take a glass of wine from the tray. He then repeats this servile act before Donna and Anne, then stands to attention, hosed legs tightly together, with the tray at his side, awaiting her instructions.

  ‘We want to break you in slowly, Chrissie,’ Helen says, her eyes traversing the she-male’s delightful form with hungry, conspiratorial eyes. ‘These evening sessions before the beginning of your more intensive training will act as a series of introductory sessions designed to give you a general idea of your duties and the trajectory of your transformation. This evening we will concentrate on general deportment and behaviour.’

  Despite being rather confused by Helen’s slightly academic tone, Chris curtseys his understanding.

  ‘You will never speak unless directly instructed to by a mistress,’ Helen continues. ‘When asked to speak, you will refer to each of us as “mistress”. You will not use our names – you are now subservient to all women and will refer to them all as “mistress”. You will not speak when issued with an instruction – a simple curtsey will suffice as a general signal of understanding. You will not look directly at a mistress without permission. Your eyes should always be cast down modestly at a mistress’s feet, unless instructed otherwise. When a mistress enters the room, you will stop whatever you are doing, curtsey and await instruction. If you receive no instruction after thirty seconds you will continue with your duties. Do you understand me so far?’

  Chris curtseys and Helen smiles.

  ‘Good. We have the highest hopes for you, Chrissie. If you perform well, I promise we will change your life in ways you never dreamed possible.’

  His eyes pinned to Helen’s beautiful court shoes, Chrissie curtseys his appreciation of her kindness.

  ‘If you fail to perform,’ Helen continues, ‘you will be punished. We will not hesitate to admin
ister appropriate punishments if you let us down.’

  As he curtseys yet again, Chris wonders what the appropriate punishments might be, and knows that he will not only accept the punishments but most probably enjoy them. A deep vein of masochism has always run through his cross-dressing and now Helen and her beautiful colleagues are obviously determined to mine it as part of their plans for his distinctly sissy future.

  ‘Later on in the week we will start to train you in your basic domestic duties. You will be expected to clean this house and, when required, the homes of Mistress Donna and Mistress Anne. We will also expect you to wash and iron all our clothing. We have no interest in teaching you to cook, but you will be taught some basic domestic skills associated with the kitchen so that you may assist us in the preparation of food. You will also be expected to help us shop. This does mean that you will be required to go out as Chrissie but, from what we’ve seen so far, this shouldn’t be a problem.’

  Chris listens in amazement and with considerable excitement. All he wishes is to serve these beautiful women in any way they see fit, and it is clear that they intend to make a great deal of use of their new she-male slave!