Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  As he stares in horror at this new, ultra-kinky chamber, Helen steps in front of him and orders him to strip naked immediately. Despite the strangeness of his surroundings, he obeys her without a moment’s hesitation, noticing as he does so that the walls of the room have now been painted a very striking hot pink and that a new, thick white carpet has also been fitted. How such a transformation could have taken place in just twenty-four hours is something of a mystery, but Chris has become very much aware that Helen can, when inspired, work miracles.

  ‘You’re probably wondering about the new room design, Chrissie,’ Helen says, a slight, cruel smile on her lovely face.

  Now stripped down to his tights and panties, he curtseys and nods his head warily.

  ‘We’ve decided that, in order to ensure the necessary level of mental conditioning required for your new role, and to eliminate the last, fundamental traces of your masculinity, it will be necessary to reduce you to the status of a baby girl. You will therefore spend the first seven days of the induction period completely babified. The only time when you will be freed from this condition will be the dance and deportment training you will receive from Donna.’

  Despite his surprise and shock at this new, devilish twist, he can only curtsey his assent and wiggle sexily out of the tights and panties, his still tightly stockinged sex popping up angrily as the panties are pulled down over his silken thighs.

  ‘If you perform as a baby girl with sufficient skill, you will be allowed to progress to the level of full maid training at the end of next week. You should note that part of this next level of training will include ensuring that you can pass as a woman in public.’

  Amazed, appalled, yet also helplessly aroused by this extreme development of his feminisation, Chris soon stands naked before Helen, his nylon-sheathed sex pointing up at his flat stomach like a terrible harbinger of doom for his already considerably weakened sense of masculinity, yet his eyes betraying a deep and inescapable excitement.

  Helen’s smile widens. She then steps forwards and slips her hands over his rigid cock. He gasps with surprise and frustration and cannot avoid staring up longingly into her beautiful dark brown eyes.

  ‘Yes, it’s been a long time since you came, Chrissie, and it’s clear that you’re suffering. But I’m afraid suffering is very much a key component in your training. Actually, I’m surprised you’ve managed to control yourself so well during the last two weeks. All you need to remember is that this, your angry little cock, is no longer your property – it belongs to us, to your mistresses, as does the rest of you, body and mind. If you manage to get through the next seven days, then there will be a reward, a reward that I’m sure will make all this suffering worthwhile.’

  The stunning dominatrix then begins gently to tease the stocking off Chrissie’s boiling, rock-hard sex, producing more whimpers of frustrated despair. And as she discards the damp, warm stocking, a smile of true sadistic glee crosses her lovely face. It is clear that she is deeply aroused by Chris’s humiliation and frustration, and by her complete power over him.

  ‘Now go to the bathroom. Wash, shave and perfume yourself as usual, then return to me. Take no more than twenty minutes.’

  In the shower, his mind races with thoughts of the week ahead, of his impending babification and of the other mysterious plans this beautiful, determined woman has for him. The desire to masturbate is almost unbearable, and he finds himself racing through his preparations to escape temptation and is soon once again standing before Helen, his cock, like the rest of him, at very firm attention, his heart pounding with a helpless, sissy anticipation.

  Helen appraises his body with a cool, detached eye, plotting the map of his babification, pondering the true, devastating extent of a new level of terribly exciting humiliation. And the first item of feminine attire she produces is a very sheer, white nylon stocking. Before his wide, madly aroused eyes, she then proceeds to cover the stocking in a mist of powerful rose-scented perfume, her own gorgeous, soul-melting brown eyes quickly capturing his gaze, her smile now a beautiful warning of torments to come.

  ‘Eyes down, please, Chrissie.’

  He curtseys and diverts his gaze to her splendid black patent leather mules, her sexy toes, painted a blood red, clearly visible through a fetishistic film of black nylon.

  Then she steps closer, her hands still within his range of vision, and he can only watch in excited and horrified anticipation as she rolls the scented stocking into a ball and then begins to gently slide it over his burning, aching, sex-maddened cock.

  His agonised squeals of tormented pleasure inspire a grunt of utter contempt from his beautiful, unyielding mistress. Soon tears of frustration are trickling down the poor sissy’s crimson cheeks and he is fighting to prevent his girlish buttocks from wiggling in an almost sluttish dance of sexual agony.

  ‘The stocking was Donna’s idea,’ Helen whispers. ‘She really is a very imaginative woman. You’re very lucky to have her as a mistress.’

  Once the stocking is pulled firmly into position, Helen then takes up a long length of pink silk ribbon and uses it to tie the gentle nylon prison tightly in place, securing the ribbon with a large, babyish bow at the base of his very full, almost bulging testicles.

  Yet even this terrible torment is not the end of his sexual sufferings; for no sooner has Helen secured the stocking than she has returned to the dressing table and taken from it the strangest object he has yet seen. At first sight, it appears to be a weird metal sculpture – two small metal hoops joined by a curved silver bar. As she returns to him, he quickly returns his gaze to her feet.

  ‘You may look up now, Chrissie,’ she says, standing only inches from his tormented body.

  As he raises his eyes, she holds the strange device before him and then clicks open one of the two hoops. She then repeats this process with the second hoop, her smile widening as his confusion increases.

  ‘As I have made clear, Chrissie, the key to your training is restraint. You are already learning this, but with the induction we must step onto a new plateau of denial, a new stage in the arena of overcoming and self-control. And I’m afraid this will involve a certain amount of suffering, but suffering is part of the core of true submission. Without it, you can never truly understand what it is to surrender completely to a mistress.’

  As she speaks, she draws the device towards his rigid, sheathed sex and it doesn’t take too many seconds before Chris realises that it is designed to fit over his already tortured cock!

  And as Helen slips the open hoops over his stockinged sex, her words, spoken in a voice of pure velvet, strike deep into his sissy heart.

  ‘Yes: a rather wicked cock-restrainer, designed to prevent full erection and thus to make ejaculation impossible. The more excited you get, the more painful the resistance of the restrainer, as I’m afraid you’re about to discover.’

  It is then that she clicks the two hoops shut around his tightly stockinged sex. The metal instantly bites deep into the engorged flesh of his cock and he releases a helpless cry of genuine pain.

  ‘I suggest if you want the pain to go away, you think of work.’

  Her teasing, black comic words only add to his discomfort. To make matters worse, the restrainer pushes the soft nylon of the stocking deep into his stiff sex, and in some strange way manages to make the erotic caress of the delicate nylon material even more exciting!

  As tears of genuine pain well up in his wide, baby girl eyes, Helen then orders the poor sissy to bend over and spread his legs wide. Horrified and agonised, he leans forwards, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the thick white carpet and then slowly spreads his legs wide apart, his painfully restrained sex pressing into his stomach, the feel of cold, utterly unforgiving metal an awful announcement of this new level of control.

  Unable to see Helen, he can only listen fearfully to her movements and await the next bizarre turn of the screw. And this soon becomes terribly apparent as her hands suddenly rest on his buttocks, but
it is not her skin resting against his skin – her hands are sheathed in a soft, cool fabric: she is wearing what feel like rubber gloves!

  ‘It isn’t just your cock that will need special attention, Chrissie. There is also your arse. Donna has already told me that you find anal stimulation very exciting, and this is very important for your development as a sissy she-male. We want you to learn that this particular orifice is a source of a very real and intense sexual pleasure. Indeed, we want you to come to regard your anus as the primary source of sexual pleasure. So as we control and restrain your cock, we will train and excite your arse.’

  He listens in absolute amazement, initially horrified by the idea that he is to be denied sexual release from his cock and trained instead to find his pleasure through what amounts to anal sex! Yet even as these terrified thoughts are flooding his mind, Helen is slipping a well-greased, rubber-sheathed index finger deep into his back passage and the true extent of the pleasure offered by this stimulation is becoming blindingly apparent. Indeed, the helplessly loud, sissy moan of arousal that escapes his pretty mouth as Helen pushes her finger as deep as it will go is all the confirmation she needs that Chrissie is indeed the ideal subject for the plans she has drawn up for the creation of the perfect she-male maidservant.

  Once satisfied that his anus is sufficiently lubricated, Helen slowly removes her finger, producing another moan of helpless sissy pleasure. He then waits in a state of even more excited and fearful anticipation as Helen moves about the room behind him. Eventually he becomes aware that she is standing behind him once again. Then there is the strangest, most disturbing sensation: something hard, cool and rather sticky is being pressed into his back passage!

  ‘Just relax, Chrissie. It’s only a small anal plug. Over time we’ll increase the size of the plugs, and very soon you’ll be able to accommodate the most substantial of intruders.’

  He gasps, he moans, he squeals as the anal plug, a phallus-shaped piece of hard pink rubber, is slipped slowly and carefully deep into his anus. This is the most intimate and profound invasion of his remaining masculinity, a terrible, yet incredibly exciting ravishment that opens a new door of physical sensation and reveals the true nature of the pathway to sissidom that lies beyond.

  Once the plug has been pushed firmly and inescapably home, Chris is made to stand. As he does so, as his thighs come together and his legs straighten, the plug is pushed even deeper into his back passage and another helpless, hopeless moan trickles from his girlish lips. Even worse, the strange pleasure provided by this bizarre intrusion also sends particularly powerful signals of arousal to his inflamed and tightly imprisoned cock, creating yet more discomfort! This will be the awful dialectic of his feminisation: pleasure followed inevitably by pain.

  He is truly appalled by the startling power of the pleasure induced by the plug. Although he had experimented with Donna, nothing has prepared him for the weird delights of the anal plug!

  ‘I can see you’re enjoying yourself, Chrissie. And that, as you now no doubt realise, is a punishment in itself. The plug and the rings will remain in place permanently for the next seven days. They will only be removed to allow your natural functions.’

  He listens, or rather tries to listen, as the battle between pain and pleasure rages across the landscape of his feminised form. And he watches with tears of frustration and confusion filling his lovely eyes as Helen walks over to a newly fitted extra-large wardrobe and slides open its long, white doors to reveal a spectacular array of babified femininity, a row of adult-sized little girl dresses in a suitable selection of sissy colours: hot pink, bright yellow, snow white, pale blue. Each dress is made from gleaming satin, each is covered in frills and thick frou-frou petticoating. Indeed, it quickly becomes apparent that, besides the wide variety of colours, each dress is in fact identical!

  ‘I had them made especially, Chrissie. One for each day of the week. An essential part of any true sissy’s wardrobe.’

  Poor Chris moans as Helen selects a hot pink dress and brings it over to the bed. As she carefully places the dress on the bed, her cruel smile increases and their eyes inadvertently meet.

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve failed to avert your gaze, Chrissie. If you do it again, I will spank you with a hairbrush on your bare bottom. Now I suggest you get a good look at this lovely little item, while I prepare your other baby attire.’

  The threat of a spanking is merely another terrible tease, another evil tickle of his outraged, tortured sex. And as Helen returns to the wardrobe, he can only stare at this lovely, intricate dress and feel a yet even more painful sexual arousal. As previously noted, the dress is cut from a very expensive, hot pink satin. It has a very high, white pearl-buttoned neck, which is topped off with a row of very thick white French lace. The bodice and very short skirt are covered in what appear to be a pattern of roses and the skirt itself, as well as being frilled with the same ornate lace as the neck area, is laden with inches of spectacular frou-frou petticoating. The long, puffed arms of the dress lead down to pearl-buttoned, lace-trimmed sleeves and another row of pearl buttons traverse its back, from the base of the short skirt right up to the bottom of the neck section.

  And as he stares in utter bewilderment, Helen returns carrying a large pile of even more embarrassing dainties. She dumps them on the bed and then begins carefully to sort out the various items before his wide, horribly excited eyes. A thick towel nappy, white nylon, self-supporting stockings, a very large pair of white plastic panties, a pair of delicate pink silk booties with pink silk ribbon laces, a white leather mini-corset, and a pair of pink silk fingerless mittens.

  ‘I think this is everything,’ Helen says, almost speaking to herself. ‘I ordered most of it from the internet. You can find anything on it.’

  She then takes up the thick nappy and tells Chris to spread his legs. As he looks on, his face crimson with shame, a sense of devastating humiliation dissolving what remains of his sense of masculinity, she slips the nappy between his legs, draws it up over his soft, feminine buttocks and pulls the two ends of the thick to welling fabric together around his slender waist. Then, from her skirt pocket, she takes a very large, silver safety pin and secures the two ends tightly together, her cruel smile widening by the minute. The nappy is followed by the stockings. She hands the first pretty, ultra-sheer white stocking to Chris and tells him to put it on. As he sits down on the bed, the plug presses even deeper into his arse just as the cock ring presses harder into the unfortunate flesh of his engorged cock. It is difficult to tell whether the resultant moan is one of pain or of pleasure, and Chris is fast coming to realise that there is now probably very little difference between the two.

  The stocking feels wonderful against the silky smooth, scented skin of his leg and as he guides it up over his knee and along his thigh he feels a familiar and very intense thrill. Unfortunately, this thrill also ensures that his poor, brutalised penis is locked in an even tighter, more painful grip by the terrible, unyielding restrainer and once again he finds himself releasing a series of highly ambiguous moans as he secures the self-supporting stocking around the top of his thigh, a process which he then repeats with the second stocking, with the same, rather predictable results.

  After the stockings come the white lace-frilled plastic panties. Seemingly huge, thick and embarrassingly noisy, he pulls them up his legs with a sense of complete damnation. Now he knows there is no turning back from this bizarre turn of events, this headfirst dive into the whirlpool of babification. And once the panties have been wiggled into place, Helen takes up the compact, streamlined white leather mini-corset and wraps it around his already slight stomach, her hot, excited breathing caressing his chest and shoulders like a delicate virgin’s kiss as she carefully works the corset into place, then takes up the white rubber laces and begins to pull very hard.

  At first, Chris feels only a slight discomfort, already used to the restrictive effect of the corselette, but it quickly becomes apparent that Helen intends to
move beyond the previous levels of figure training and soon the pressure being applied to his waist is considerable, if not downright painful.

  ‘Restraint, Chrissie. Remember what I have told you: restraint is everything.’

  Her words are of little comfort as the air is pushed from his lungs and fat, sissy tears begin to well up in his pretty eyes. But then the pressure has levelled out and Helen is tying the laces tightly into place. He is appalled by the pressure on his waist and feels sure he will soon pass out. Helen, however, is disturbingly indifferent.

  ‘It may feel unbearable, Chrissie, but you’ll soon get used to it. I think you’ll be surprised by just how much restriction your waist will take, especially after the diet takes effect. Believe it or not, I think there’s at least another inch we can take off you.’

  His eyes widen in horror at this last sentence, yet, to his amazement, he finds himself nodding with a resignation that is more evidence of his absolute enslavement and devotion to this stunning, fiery-eyed woman.