Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  By midday, his poor thighs and bottom are stinging from the relentless round of spankings his failings inspire, yet there is no bondage therapy and, despite Helen’s promise, no breast-feeding. Indeed, the general tone of the women seems to have changed considerably and even Donna treats him with a painful indifference and administers the hardest of the spankings when he fails to follow her instructions to the letter.

  Yet despite this, he once again shows that he is a gifted domestic and, with the experience of the previous two weeks behind him, is able to complete most of the tasks he is ordered to carry out.

  After providing oral relief to his mistresses, he is taken upstairs by Helen and put back into the cot, quite exhausted, yet still in a state of deep, highly masochistic excitement. As she straps him tightly into the cot, he looks up at her splendid bosom and remembers the joy of suckling each large, soft breast. He moans expectantly into his fat dummy gag, yet she ignores him, and soon he is plunged back into darkness and, despite his terrible frustrations and resultant discomfort, he quickly drifts into a deep sleep.

  Yet, despite the obvious repetition of his babified days, there are still a number of bizarre and highly erotic moments that note further description.

  For instance, on the Monday evening, after another day of very demanding domestic labour and strict discipline, Chris finds himself subjected to an elaborate and extended photo shoot. After dinner, he is summoned from the kitchen. Expecting the now nightly pleasure of bringing his three marvellous mistresses to shattering orgasms with his expert sissy tongue, he instead finds himself at the centre of a sissy photo session supervised with some considerable gusto by the beautiful, perverse Anne.

  For over an hour, using a state-of-the-art digital camera, she takes photo after photo of her she-male slave in his exquisitely sissy baby attire. The gloves are replaced by the mittens, the Mary Janes by booties. The pinafore is removed. He is bound hand and foot with white stockings, made to stand with his skirt and petticoats pulled up to reveal his matching plastic panties, nappies and stocking-tops. He is put over Helen’s hosed knees, his panties lowered, his nappy removed, and then soundly spanked with a very painful hairbrush. Real tears are captured in the midst of exploding flash-lights; his poor, crimson bottom is immortalised.

  This, he knows, is all part of Anne’s plan to turn Baby Chrissie into a web celebrity. Earlier, during dinner, she had told the other women of the progress already made in setting up a ‘Chrissie web site’. He had listened in horror, yet never once hesitated in his maidservant duties. A main part of her plan is to put a selection of photos up on the web page, and this was now quite clearly taking initial shape. Yet, despite the threat of this awfully public exposure, Chris finds himself participating in the shoot with some enthusiasm. Indeed, at one point, when tied with the stockings, he responds with a true method actor’s passion to Anne’s insistence that he show ‘utter humiliation, fear, even sissy anger’ and finds himself squealing angrily into the fat dummy gag and wriggling helplessly in his delightful baby bondage.

  The next afternoon, he receives his first ‘deportment and movement’ lesson from the lovely, beloved Donna. After lunch, he is returned to the nursery by Helen and quickly stripped down to the cock-ring and stocking restrainer. The wig and dummy gag are removed and he is showered and rescented. He is then returned to the nursery and presented with a very sexy, very sheer pink nylon leotard and a pair of exactly matching dance tights. As he excitedly slips into this soft, teasing attire, Helen, a very wide smile on her gorgeous, dark-featured face, produces two more large pink boxes and places them on the small single bed. From inside the largest box, she takes a billowing pink lace tutu and quickly fits it around his waist. From the second box, she takes a pair of pink silk ballet slippers which, following her instructions, he proceeds to slip into.

  He is then forced to sit down before the dressing table mirror and Helen carefully styles his short hair with a hairbrush before making up his face with a mild tan foundation, pale-blue eye-shadow and a pink lipstick. A layer of very strong, musk perfume is then sprayed across his body and this delightful, mincing she-male ballerina is led back down the corridor and into a room he has never seen before. The room, obviously once one of the many bedrooms, has been emptied of all furniture except a leather-backed chair. There is no carpet, but rather highly polished floor boards, and across one entire wall is a large rectangular mirror, running along which is a thin wooden beam.

  Helen leaves Chris facing his reflection, insisting that he keep his hands behind his back and that he stands at a rigid attention. He obeys, of course, and spends ten uncomfortable minutes staring at his feminised sissy reflection, noticing that his restrained, tormented erection is made quite blatantly clear by the tight leotard and finding this exposure strangely exciting. And it is as he contemplates his bulging sex that Donna enters the room. Donna, dressed in a black leotard, matching nylon tights and ballet slippers, the tight second skin of the dance costume revealing her splendid, generous figure in all its deeply erotic glory.

  He turns to face her and curtseys. She smiles. She is carrying a small portable CD player, which she then places on the chair.

  ‘If you’re going to become a convincing she-male, we need to make sure you can move in an appropriately feminine manner,’ she says, her eyes never leaving his tortured, exposed sex. ‘So each afternoon for the next five days, I’m going to help you learn how to move properly. We’ll start with simple dance instruction. Some basic ballet steps and moves, practised daily, will give you grace and confidence. Then we’ll move onto walking, walking in heels and then general deportment.’

  He curtseys his understanding, trying to avoid staring with savage desire at her beautiful, so expertly displayed body.

  In their sexy costumes, they spend the next ninety minutes practising a series of basic ballet moves to the music of Debussy and Mozart. To his surprise, he finds the dainty, ultra-feminine movements that Donna demands he perform relatively simple. Indeed, by the end of this very arousing session, he is able to carry out most of the steps and other movements very effectively, and certainly well enough to earn Donna’s praise and her teasing, infuriating caresses.

  ‘Helen’s right about you being a natural,’ she purrs at the end of the session, her hot hands slipping beneath the tutu and gliding over the nylon-sheathed outline of his rigid, imprisoned sex. He moans angrily and she turns a vague brush into a tortuous caress. His moan becomes a cry halfway between agony and ecstasy.

  ‘But you’re so noisy! Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you’re gagged – with a pair of my panties, of course. Not that this’ll be a punishment for you.’

  She then kisses him on the forehead and leads him back to the nursery. By 4.00 p.m., he is fully babified once again and serving afternoon tea to his mistresses, demonstrating his new feminine agility in each submissive, sissy movement. And it is during this exhibition of his new sissy skills that Anne announces that she has already managed to get the ‘Baby Chrissie’ website up and running and that the digital pictures snapped the day before have already been posted on the site.

  ‘I’ve linked it to an adult baby web ring and we’re already getting loads of hits. I’m sure Chrissie will be very popular with all her fellow sissies in no time at all. Perhaps we have a superstar in the making.’

  The women laugh and Chris tries not to show his concern, mincing from mistress to mistress with a silver plate of biscuits, today’s gorgeous baby dress, cream-coloured, protected by the standard and very lovely silk and lace pinafore.

  ‘I wonder if he already has any sissy friends,’ Helen asks. ‘Do you have any secret sissy friends, Chrissie?’

  It has been nearly a month since he last communicated with Annette. Indeed, he has not been near his computer since his enslavement by these three beauties. However, he performs an affirmative curtsey and Helen’s smile broadens.

  ‘Really,’ she says, her mind clearly pondering a potential new line of sissy development. ‘Do
you have a particularly special sissy friend?’

  Another wary curtsey follows.

  ‘Well, I think it’s only fair we get to meet this friend, don’t you?’

  A much slower curtsey greets this question.

  ‘You don’t seem too enthusiastic, Chrissie. We expect a bit more commitment than that!’

  Chris duly performs a much deeper curtsey, making sure to expose his lovely cream plastic panties completely for his mistress.

  ‘I think she’s getting a little complacent,’ Anne suddenly snaps.

  ‘Yes, maybe she needs a lesson to liven her up,’ Helen replies, her lovely brown eyes now filled with the familiar flame of sadistic cunning.

  ‘I suggest we give the silly little girl an enema. That should lighten her step a little.’

  Anne’s words, delivered with a dark, cruel humour, strike into Chris’s poor sissy heart like a hot knife.

  ‘A good idea. Donna, if you wouldn’t mind taking her to the nursery and we’ll follow on shortly. If you could prepare the enema equipment as well, I’d be very grateful.’

  Donna smiles, takes a long, knowing look at Chris and snaps a confident, ‘No problem,’ before getting up and leading her now wide-eyed sissy slave from the room.

  As he minces along behind his gorgeous, sexy mistress, the thought of the impending enema fills the pretty, babified she-male with utter horror. After the deportment lesson, Donna has, as usual, dressed to thrill, and now, his mind reeling with fearful anticipation, he finds himself staring with paradoxically desiring eyes at her long, black hosed legs, revealed expertly by a red leather mini-skirt and red, patent leather stilettos. As she quite deliberately wiggles her pert, sexy bottom in his china doll face, he moans fearfully into the fat dummy gag and tries to prevent large tears welling up in his sissy eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry, babikins,’ Donna teases. ‘It really isn’t that bad. And it’ll make you feel much better later.’

  As she turns to face him, despite his fear, his eyes fix onto her shapely breasts pressing against the skin-tight nylon cocoon of her sweater. The terrible dialectic of pain and pleasure is surely never-ending.

  Once in the bedroom, he is made to stand to attention by the cot as Donna proceeds to reveal some of the hidden delights of the nursery.

  From beneath the bed, she takes a large black rubber mat that has been rolled into a tight tube. She places this in the centre of the room. She then tells Chris to strip naked. As he obeys, she returns to the space beneath the bed, this time producing a long silver bar with a thick black leather shackle attached to each end. She places this on the rubber mat and then strolls over to the rows of shelves built into the wall beyond the bed. As he struggles out of his cream stockings and matching plastic panties, he watches with increasing unease as Donna takes a long length of pink rubber tubing and a very large pink rubber bag from one of the shelves. She places these on the bed and then minces over to the wardrobe. From inside she takes a strange metal tripod base set on casters and places it down by her high-heeled feet. Then she produces a strangely shaped metal pole with what seems to be a large metal peg set into the top. She slots the pole into the tripod and then wheels the completed device over to the rubber mat.

  By this time, poor Chris is naked except for the appalling cock-ring and its black nylon stocking partner, his tormented erection still strong and protesting painfully against the wicked metal prison.

  Donna then removes his bonnet, dummy gag and wig and straightens his own hair with a comb.

  ‘Would you like a panty-gag, Chrissie?’ she asks, her lovely eyes filled with teasing arousal.

  He eagerly curtseys an affirmation and Donna’s smile widens.

  ‘I’d love to put my panties in that lovely mouth but, as this is a punishment enema, I’m afraid we have to use a special ball gag.’

  He is then forced to watch as she returns to the shelves and takes from one of them a very large pink rubber ball attached to two lengths of thick white leather. Yet before she returns, she dips the ball into a bowl of clear liquid resting on a lower shelf. She then brings the gag over to Chris and tells him to open his mouth as wide as possible.

  As she forces the gag home he is immediately aware that the liquid is salt water. Indeed, the gag is covered in glistening salt crystals and this, plus the vast, mouth-filling size of the gag, makes for an extremely unpleasant experience, an experience significantly worsened as Donna buckles the gag tightly in place at the back of his slender neck.

  Squealing in discomfort, he watches angrily as Donna proceeds to take two lengths of the now familiar black rubber cording from the shelves and use them to bind his arms very tightly behind his back at the wrists and, most painfully, at his elbows.

  ‘There’s no point in complaining, babikins,’ she teases, tying the knot that forces his elbows to touch. ‘You’ve been a naughty little sissy and it’s been made clear we’re determined to punish any sign of laziness.’

  She then kneels down before her bound and gagged slave and takes up the strange metal bar.

  ‘A leg-spreader,’ she explains, attaching the left shackle around his girlish ankle and buckling it tightly in place. ‘So spread your legs.’

  With his arms bound so tightly, this is particularly difficult, but he eventually manages to stretch his legs far enough to allow Donna to fit the bar between his legs and attach the right shackle to his right ankle. Poor Chris thus finds himself with his legs forced wide and irresistibly apart, his balance precarious, a sense of terrible vulnerability gripping every inch of his tethered body. Yet this is very much only the beginning.

  As soon as the leg-spreader is in place, Donna climbs to her lovely, high-heeled feet, smiles teasingly at Chris and returns to the shelves. Fighting to maintain his balance, he watches as she takes a coiled length of thin, silver chain from one of the shelves and brings it back over to him.

  ‘This fixes your wrists to that,’ she says, pointing to the ceiling.

  He follows her gaze painfully upwards and grunts fearfully into the gag as he notices that a large metal ring has been fixed into the ceiling immediately above Donna’s head. She makes a point of showing him that one end of the chain has a clip hook which is designed to slot into the ring, and that the other end is another length of the rubber cording.

  As she ties the rubber-corded end of the chain to the cording binding his wrists, he hears distinctive and familiar laughter and turns to behold Anne and Helen standing in the doorway to the nursery. This in itself is unsurprising, but what is totally shocking is the way they are dressed. To Chris’s amazement, both Anne and Helen have dressed up as nurses! Anne is dressed in a very short white rubber nurse’s uniform, complete with a sexy cap and a large red cross stretched across her shapely bosom. In addition to this, she has donned seamed white nylon stockings and a pair of white patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes. Helen, by contrast, has dressed in a particularly alluring ‘matron’s uniform’, a simple, dark blue cotton dress covering her ample form from her neck down to her knees, over which has been tied a white silk pinafore also decorated with a large red cross at her substantial chest. In addition, she is wearing sheer black hose, black patent leather stilettos and a nurse’s cap.

  As the women stroll teasingly over to their tormented, stunned slave, they congratulate Donna on her bondage expertise and then watch with wide, cruel smiles as Donna takes a chair from besides the shelves, brings it over to Chris and then takes up the slack of the long, sinister chain. She climbs onto the chair and pulls the chain up with her, reaching above her head and pulling the metal clip up to the hook. As she does so, poor Chris finds his wrists are pulled upwards and that the rest of his body is pushed downwards. Soon he is bent painfully forwards, his legs and buttocks spread wide, his arms pulled very painfully behind his back. He squeals into the ball gag and tries to pull himself upright, but the pressure between his shoulders is now tremendous, and the only way to relieve it is to stoop even further forwards.

  C
ompletely exposed to the cruel view of his wicked mistresses, Chris can only stare pathetically down at his tormented, still painfully stiff sex and wonder in terror what appalling torture awaits him. He listens as Donna steps down from the chair and moves to one side. Then Helen’s beautiful, black-stockinged legs and gleaming stiletto-heeled feet suddenly step into his very restricted field of vision.

  ‘Well, I think the patient is prepared for her treatment. You may begin, Nurse Anne.’

  The first thing he feels is the rubber-gloved fingers slipping deep inside his anus to retrieve the plug, hands he knows belong to the cruel, unyielding Anne. And as the plug is slowly eased free of his backside, Helen describes the terrible truth of the impending ‘operation’.