Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  ‘We will start by removing the plug. Your arse will then be lined with a film of special irritant cream. This will no doubt produce a pretty ballet of wiggling and a lot of discomfort. You will then receive ten strokes of the paddle from each of us. After this you will receive the enema. Once the enema has been administered, you will be renappied and left to ponder the reasons we have seen fit to punish you so severely. You will also have to avoid spoiling yourself, a task I think you will find extremely difficult.’

  Almost before Helen has stopped describing his terrible fate, fingers are again exploring his backside, but this time probing, caressing fingers that spread a sticky film over the walls of his now helplessly twitching anus.

  Poor Chris squeals desperately into the uncomfortable gag as Anne applies another layer of the awful cream. Large tears of terror begin to trickle from his eyes and to drop onto the rubber mat beneath his prone, tormented form. Then he feels the heat, a warmth at first, but then hot, then very hot, then almost burning. And as the heat increases so does the itching, an itching that soon seems to have spread all over his body and which leaves him swinging his head angrily, squealing even louder into the gag and wiggling his tormented and very pretty bottom uncontrollably.

  The sound of his mistresses’ cruel laughter fills his tormented head as he dances helplessly before them. The women circle him; they continue to mock his extreme discomfort, then there is a strange, anticipatory silence, the awful silence before the storm, the first devastating sign of which is a sudden, hard blow to his exposed, wiggling buttocks, the furious, stinging slap of a leather-backed paddle administered to his bottom with considerable strength and enthusiasm by one of his mistresses. He has no idea which one, and as the dreadful paddling continues he quickly understands this anonymity is quite deliberate.

  Soon the tears of pain are flooding from his eyes, and the wiggles that rumble over his body like earth tremors are wiggles of real pain as well as extreme discomfort. He receives a total of thirty hard, merciless whacks against his backside, each one as forceful as the last, none providing the slightest evidence of reluctance or hesitation. And by the time the paddling is complete, there is a terrible, satanic fire burning across his backside, a fire that spreads inevitably between his legs and into his imprisoned, still painfully stiff sex and quickly transforms into the fuel to power his demanding, unrelenting and deeply masochistic desire.

  Then hands fall upon his upper thighs, holding his bottom still while more hands spreads his buttocks even wider apart. He moans in tightly silenced misery as a wet, cool rubber tube is slipped into his anus and then pushed deep inside him. Eventually the tube encounters resistance. His tormenter, however, is quite determined and, with a painful shove, the tube seems to erupt into the very core of his being and he squeals angrily into the huge, mouth-filling ball gag.

  This is the most intimate and uncomfortable invasion of his body yet and, as he contemplates the true horror of his situation, the three gorgeous women mock him relentlessly. More tears well up in his baby girl eyes as Anne and Helen circle his prone, naked form. The terrible pain between his shoulders is now a molten metal spreading across his back and burning into the very heart of his twisted spine. Then he hears the sound of liquid being poured, an awful sound, a damning sound that he knows is the filling of the rubber enema bag.

  ‘Try and keep still, Chrissie,’ Anne teases. ‘It helps the flow into your intestines.’

  Then the beautiful, black nylon-sheathed legs of Helen are before him again.

  ‘We’re using soapy water to clean you out, Chrissie,’ she informs him, her voice filled with cruel amusement. ‘It’ll take a couple of bagfuls, so I suggest patience. Once you’re filled up, we’ll apply a suitably absorbent nappy and leave you to ponder your fate. You should also know that if you fail to withhold the liquid for the hour you will be left alone, you’ll be spending the night bound and gagged under the stairs with an anal vibrator for company.’

  Poor Chris squeals useless cries for mercy as he feels the liquid flood into his bowel. The sensation is utterly appalling and is accompanied by a sudden and very violent need to go to the toilet. Yet even after the contents of the first bag have been emptied into him, he is just able to resist this urge and endure the second bag with more pained wiggles and angry squealing.

  Then, after some fifteen truly dreadful minutes, the enema tube is slid from his back passage and invisible hands quickly wrap him into a very heavy, very thick nappy and secure it very tightly in place.

  ‘Have fun, babikins.’

  Anne’s voice, followed by the laughter of the three women. Then the light is flicked off, plunging the crying sissy into a very familiar but no less terrifying darkness. The nursery door is then closed and locked.

  Almost immediately, the intensity of the discomfort created by the irritant cream seems to increase. Chris’s position is deliberately designed not just to make him easily available for intrusion and spanking, but also to make it very difficult for him to control his already considerably weakened sphincter muscle. So as much as he struggles to restrain the flood of liquid and faeces now demanding release from his bowel, he knows that, sooner rather than later, he will mess his nappy rather spectacularly, and that when he does he is sentencing himself to a very uncomfortable and kinky night locked beneath the stairs. Yet, despite all the torments he has endured in the last few hours, and to his considerable amazement, he still finds himself deeply aroused. The well of his masochism, it seems, is bottomless.

  He manages to hold back the tide for maybe fifteen minutes, then, with the sweat of an intense and futile effort soaking his tortured body, he gasps helplessly into his fat, salted gag and unleashes the tidal wave. The sound and the smell are appalling. This is the deepest, darkest humiliation and, as the explosion rages, as the nappy is filled to bursting point, he feels what may well be the destruction of the very last vestige of his masculinity and any sense of self-respect or ego that might have assisted in the defence of that masculinity.

  And there he remains, so tightly and painfully secured, enveloped in the stink of his own bodily functions, appallingly uncomfortable, thanks to the twisted symphony of punishments racking his sissy frame: the pain of his bondage, the torment of the salt-lined ball gag, the constant torment of the irritant cream lining his anus and his full, pungent nappy. Here he remains for at least another forty-five minutes in absolute, unforgiving darkness, begging for release, yet, most perversely, most bizarrely, at some deep, weird level, also enjoying every second of this supreme degradation.

  By the time the women return, the room stinks to high heaven and their declarations of disgust, while exaggerated, are rooted firmly in a quite genuine response to their slave’s helpless spoiling.

  With more loud and mocking cries of outrage, the women free him from the spreader-bar and bonds and unbuckle the gag. He gasps with a profound relief as the ball gag is pulled from his mouth, but has very little time to adjust his aching body; for, as soon as he is free, he is sent to the bathroom to clean himself up and prepare for the next stage of this extended punishment.

  * * *

  By the time he presents himself before his mistresses half an hour later, the filthy nappy hidden in a special scented plastic bag at the bottom of the bathroom rubbish bin, reshowered and scented, he has no idea what time or what day it is. He is utterly exhausted and finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. Despite this, he is also very much aware that he is starving hungry.

  He has been forced to shower with the cock-ring and stocking restrainer still in place but, despite the fact that the stocking is soaked, no notice of it is taken as he is led from the room by the women and returned downstairs to the living room.

  Here he discovers new, even more kinky attire awaiting him. Anne and Helen are still dressed in the very sexy nurse’s uniforms and this ensures that Chris remains painfully erect throughout this next bizarre stage of his punishment. Donna plays little part in what happens next, preferring to
sit on the sofa with her long, sexy legs crossed and a wide smile lighting up her beautiful face, watching every development intently.

  The first item that Anne takes from a strange pile on the coffee table in front of them is a long, pink rubber, ribbed dildo.

  ‘This will keep you company for the night, babikins. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit, more or less.’

  He is then made to bend forwards and touch his toes, the memory of the pain induced by his previous bondage returning as he does so. Anne then forces his legs apart so that a rubber-gloved Helen can spread a film of Vaseline around his anal passage, her long, teasing finger inducing moans of intense pleasure. Her finger is eventually removed and then Anne very carefully eases the dildo into his arse. At first he is terrified that it will not fit and that some terrible damage will be done. But after a few painful pushes, and much to his surprise, his anus suddenly gives way and accepts virtually the whole dildo.

  The pleasure of this intrusion is quite considerable and his moan very loud.

  ‘Told you,’ Anne says to Helen. ‘He’s wide enough already and he loves it. We should explore this, just like you said.’

  His contemplation of her mysterious words is interrupted as he is pulled to his feet, forcing his thighs together and pushing the dildo even deeper into his arse. The dildo is followed by another very large nappy, which is secured with another very large silver safety pin. Then Anne uses more lengths of the sleek black-rubber-lined cording to bind his wrists and elbows tightly and painfully behind his back and to tie his ankles and knees together with equally unyielding knots. As Anne secures his knees, Donna steps up from the sofa and rather brazenly rolls up her mini-skirt over her hosed thighs.

  ‘Use my panties,’ she says, her sex-fuelled gaze never leaving Chris’s wide, stunned eyes.

  He continues to watch as she wiggles out of her tights and then pulls her black silk panties down over her long legs. She hands the panties to Anne, who somewhat unceremoniously stuffs them into Chris’s quickly opened mouth. And once they are rammed securely home, Chris revelling once again in the powerful taste of Donna’s sex, Helen takes up the familiar role of silver masking tape from the table, tears off a very long, thick strip and then spreads it firmly over Chris’s now closed, very soft and sissy lips.

  Tightly bound and gagged, Chris, now terribly excited, watches as Anne, a particularly wicked smile lighting up her beautiful face, then takes from the table what looks like a long white rubber bag. He continues to watch in amazement as she proceeds to roll the bag up into a wide bowl and then kneel down by Chris’s feet.

  ‘Step into the body glove,’ she orders.

  He obeys without question and then watches in utter astonishment as Anne begins to draw the bag up his smooth, scented body, revealing as she does so that the bag is in fact a very light, thin and very strong rubber cocoon. His mouth and nostrils filled with the lovely perfume of Donna, his eyes wide with aroused astonishment, he watches Anne carefully roll the glove up over his knees and thighs, then over his nappied waist, up over his stomach and chest, and then pull it tightly into place around his neck, thus imprisoning his sissy body in a second skin of cream-coloured latex rubber.

  He whimpers into his gag, amazed at the strength of the glove, at his utter helplessness and the pleasure that is flooding through his so effectively restrained form.

  ‘Perfect,’ Helen whispers. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

  Donna then disappears into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with, of all things, an upright station porter’s barrow painted hot pink! Poor Chris can then only watch horrified as Helen and Anne proceed to load the mummified sissy onto the barrow and Donna, aided by Helen, wheels him out of the living room and down the corridor to the small door beneath the stairs. Here, Anne produces the final terrifying item of bondage: an eyeless, latex rubber hood that exactly matches the colour and material of the ultra-tight body glove that is now so effectively imprisoning his feminine body. Chris moans fearfully into his pungent panty-gag and shakes his head angrily as Anne stretches the base of the hood wide and prepares to pull it over his head. It is Donna who steps forwards and, assisted by her very high heels, manages to hold his head still as Anne, the cruellest and darkest of smiles on her face, slowly pulls the hood down over his sweaty and terror-streaked face.

  Eventually, Anne manages to pull the hood firmly down over his head and allow it to take up its natural clinging second-skin form over his face. As it does so, she carefully ensures that two air holes are positioned directly beneath his nostrils, allowing Chris a deeply disturbed, panic-stricken breathing.

  Plunged into a terrible, bottomless darkness, Chris also finds that the rubber hood blocks out all sound and that he is once again lost in a vast pit of total sensory deprivation. The skin-tight body glove, combined with the cord bindings, makes any kind of movement absolutely impossible. In this mummified state he can only wait for the inevitable teasing hands that grasp his body and lift him from the trolley, his well-gagged squeals of despair and fear heard only in his terrified mind as he is then carried through the doorway of the small cupboard and carefully laid out face up on a black rubber mattress. Then he is left. He has no idea that the three women have turned off the light, shut the small door and locked it. He has no idea about the world outside this total, absolute bondage. And so he has no idea that once the door is locked, Anne takes from a pocket in her sexy nurse’s uniform a small remote control device, basically a red plastic button built into a metal box, and then pushes the button down, sending a surprisingly powerful electric signal through the door and through the layer of latex and into the heart of the dildo, an electric signal that triggers a wicked internal mechanism which makes the dildo begin to vibrate deep within Chris’s expertly expanded arse.

  And Chris can only scream silently into the tasty panty-gag as the vibrations begin to increase, and as the waves of intense sexual pleasure once again course through his sissified, so expertly restrained body. Unable to move more than an inch in the absolute darkness, he can only endure what quickly becomes a terrible, all-pervasive pleasure. His erection is soon once again straining angrily against the metal restrainer and he is once again riding the roller coaster of pain and pleasure. Yet this torment, this awful ambivalence, is new. For it doesn’t end; or, rather, its end is unknown. This is the deepest sea of masochistic pleasure he will dive into. As the long night passes, he will forget everything except the teasing pleasure of the dildo deep in his arse and the burning, unfulfilled desire it inspires. He will travel to the black, molten heart of sex and become nothing but this sex; it will consume him and remake him. In the terrible fire of this long, lonely, agonisingly pleasurable night, the last traces of his masculinity will be destroyed forever and Christina will finally be fully alive.

  Eight

  By the time he is released from his mummified bondage hours later, he has descended into a hallucinatory madness of absolute sex. He has no memory of being carried from the cupboard, of being carefully stripped of the rubber body glove and hood. Visions of his three mistresses haunt his dreams. Maybe they are talking, maybe there are looks of considerable concern in their beautiful eyes. But then there is blackness, a deep, empty blackness from which he is pulled by another voice, the very sexy, yet also stern voice of Helen.

  ‘Chrissie? Chrissie – wake up. You’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours, you silly little girl. Wake up immediately!’

  He opens his eyes slowly, fearfully, afraid yet again that this whole wondrous adventure has been a dream. Yet here is Helen leaning over the cot, her gorgeous brown eyes betraying the slightest uncertainty. And here he is, in the cot, secured by the shackles, dressed in the sexy baby clothes, dummy-gagged, the bonnet tied tightly to his head.

  How did he get here? Much later Donna will tell him that they had pulled him from the cupboard to discover a sex zombie, that once the glove and hood had been removed, he had been found in a deep, delirious sex-trance; that Donna had wanted to take him to th
e hospital, that Anne had disagreed, that there had been an argument. But Helen had insisted they continue as planned. Then, to their relief, he had stirred, showed signs of life. But he was still incoherent, still possessed by the sex-heat, and rambling about his desires, calling out their names. They had carried him upstairs, bathed him, calmed him down. To their amazement, he had begged to be refeminised as quickly as possible, making it quite clear that at the heart of his passion was a mad need for his complete subjugation to femininity and thus the true expression of Christina. They were amazed as he ranted about these desires, as he confessed his addiction. So they had made him up once again and put him back into the latest version of the sweet baby attire.

  It had been Helen who suggested they put him back in the cot. And as soon as he had been secured, his baby girl eyes had fluttered sweetly, he had moaned weakly into his fat dummy-gag and then fallen into a deep, prolonged sleep.

  Now, twenty-four hours later, he faces the lovely Helen and knows he is a changed person, that Chris is now truly lost in the mists of a memory virtually destroyed by the events of the past forty-eight hours. As he is helped from the cot by this stunning woman with her sensual brown eyes, her full, cherry-red lips and ample, shapely body, he feels an intense, almost overwhelming desire to obey her, to serve her, to submit completely and absolutely. At the same time, the sense of his own femininity is now all-pervasive. Even as he is guided to the dressing table and allowed to sit before his expertly sissified and quite beautiful reflection, he knows he has reached a point of no return: that he can never go back to being Chris, to living as a man of any kind, to work in that prison-like office and pretend to care about the stifling boredom of the administrative process.