Silken Slavery

by Christina Shelly

  After dinner, she is presented with a huge pile of ironing, the product of a weekend’s washing and drying. Led by Helen into a small, windowless room off the kitchen, she finds herself standing before two large plastic baskets filled with her mistresses’ clothing, an ironing board and an iron.

  ‘This lot should take about two to three hours,’ Helen says, her voice cut through with a cruel, yet sexy amusement.

  Christina curtseys and is about to step forwards, her masochistic excitement clearly dimmed by the size of this task, when Helen places a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘To ensure all you do is iron, you will be hobbled and gagged.’

  To Christina’s surprise, Helen then takes from a large pocket in her long black skirt a pair of black panties, a roll of masking tape and two lengths of the very strong black rubber cording. She kneels down by Christina’s high-heeled feet and tightly binds her delicately hosed ankles and knees with the rubber cording. Once the sissy’s legs have been secured, she takes up the panties and dangles them before Christina’s wide eyes.

  ‘I’ve had these on most of the day, Christina, so I hope you appreciate the flavour.’

  Helen forces the panties deep into her slave’s more than willing mouth, quickly tears off a long strip of the tape and then spreads it firmly over Christina’s glistening, cherry-red lips.

  Yet this is only the beginning of her domestic bondage. For once the gag is secured, Helen leans down once again and takes up a pair of previously unnoticed slender metal shackles from beneath the ironing board. The shackles are attached by a silver chain to a metal hoop fixed to the floor. Helen locks the shackles around Christina’s wrists.

  ‘There’s enough give to allow you to take clothes from the basket and place them on the board, and to manipulate the iron,’ Helen informs her now horrified slave. ‘The corset will make it virtually impossible for you to bend forwards far enough to remove the gag, but you will be able, if somewhat painfully, to squat down and take the clothing from the basket. Donna will come back at eleven to check on your progress. If you haven’t finished by then, you’ll be spanked, hog-tied and left in here for the night.’

  With this delicious, teasing threat, Helen then leaves Christina hobbled, shackled, tightly panty-gagged and facing the ironing board and the two huge piles of washing.

  It is only as she considers the task ahead that she notices that there is a large clothes rack directly to her left loaded with coat hangers and, beneath the rack, another large white plastic basket. It quickly becomes apparent that the lovely, tethered and gagged sissy is expected not just to iron the two huge piles of clothing, but to fold or hang them as appropriate!

  Breathing heavily through flaring nostrils, she hops forwards slowly and painfully squats down to take the first item of clothing from the basket: a very sheer, semi-transparent white silk blouse that she recognises as belonging to Helen.

  It takes her nearly ten minutes to iron the blouse and then hop two paces to the left to slip it over a hanger. By the time she has managed to do this, she is covered in sweat and gasping into her fat, pungent gag, the musky taste of Helen filling her stuffed mouth and, despite her discomfort, ensuring that her rubber imprisoned sex remains hard and deeply frustrated.

  She labours desperately for over two hours, managing in this time to complete only one basket. And by the time the door is unlocked and Donna slips into the small cupboard-like room, poor Christina is only just beginning the second, her body soaked in sweat, her hosed legs aching terribly, tears of discomfort and desperation flooding from her pretty, girlish eyes.

  ‘We had a bet how far you’d get,’ Donna mocks. ‘I thought you’d have nearly finished. But perhaps I think too highly of you, Chrissie. Anne got nearest. And she, of course, was the most pessimistic.’

  Christina watches in painful anticipation as Donna removes the shackles and then disconnects the iron and folds up the ironing board, creating a narrow floor space. She then orders her slave to bend over and touch her toes. After hours of deportment training, Christina can now perform this physical feat with very little effort, her body shivering with fear as her petticoats and tiny skirt are raised up her nylon-sheathed thighs to offer her tightly pantied buttocks for inspection and torment.

  Donna then makes a point of walking around Christina to show her a long, thick leather strap.

  ‘A present from Amanda.’

  Poor Christina’s tightly muffled squeals of fear and her desperately shaking head produce a sharp laugh from her gorgeous, beloved mistress.

  ‘Pain and pleasure, Chrissie,’ she teases. ‘That’s what it’s all about.’

  Donna then disappears back behind the quivering she-male and there is a long, terrifying pause broken only by the sound of Christina’s muffled pleas for mercy. Then there is fire, a terrible, blinding fire that rips into her buttocks and floods across her sissified form. She screams uselessly into the perfumed panty-gag and the force of this first brutal cut of the strap causes her to hop desperately forwards. Then a second blow, then a third. All together, six hard, mercilessly cuts of the strap that leave huge tears of pain pouring from Christina’s eyes, squeals of outraged discomfort fighting to escape her so expertly gagged mouth and a terrible, inescapable fire eating up her shapely, sissified buttocks.

  Then she is being pulled to her feet and her arms are being forced behind her back. She moans hopelessly as her wrists and elbows are then bound tightly together with more lengths of the unyielding black rubber cording.

  ‘Do you still love me, Chrissie?’ Donna asks, her voice filled with a strange, almost tormented excitement.

  Despite her pain and the intensity of her punishment, Christina nods her head and attempts a curtsey of affirmation. Yes, she still loves Donna. In fact, as Donna forces her to kneel on the cold, concrete floor and then carefully lowers her bound form face down onto this floor, Christina loves her with an even greater power. Face down, her buttocks aflame, her body racked with the torments of the past two or so hours, she cannot help but accept that the more Donna dominates and humiliates her, the more the gorgeous, deeply masochistic she-male loves her.

  Donna then uses a final length of the rubber cording to bind her tethered ankles to her trussed wrists, forcing her into such a severe hog-tie that the tips of her stiletto heels are forced painfully into the palms of her hands.

  Then a pair of black-hosed legs fill Christina’s severely restricted vision. Then, a pair of black panties fall down these legs. Donna then steps out of her panties and picks them up from the floor.

  ‘I thought it would be nice to leave you with a little reminder of me, as you’ve got a rather long and uncomfortable night ahead.’

  Donna then leans down and stretches the panties over Christina’s head in such a way that the soaked gusset is forced directly over her nose. The powerful sex-smell of Donna thus mingles with the tastes of Helen and Christina squeals with a mad, masochistic pleasure into the panty-gag, wiggling her sexy, roasted bottom and bound, hosed ankles desperately.

  ‘See you in the morning,’ Donna purrs, stepping out of Christina’s field of vision.

  Christina moans fearfully as Donna disappears. Then she is plunged into an all too familiar yet still terrifying and absolute darkness as the light is flicked off and the door closed and locked.

  Trussed, gagged, her body aching all over, the heat in her buttocks now pouring between her legs and into her rubberised sex, Christina is once again cast adrift on a sea of intense, perverse and ultimately deeply enjoyable ultra-bondage. Despite the pain and the discomfort, she struggles with a real, almost crazed pleasure in her sissy bonds and moans hungrily into her savoury gag. The smells and tastes of her mistresses fill her mind, the darkness inspires a vast array of sex hallucinations. Utterly enslaved, she is in her own glowing, erotic heaven. A heaven built on pain, pleasure and the absolute reality of unending submission to three beautiful women, one of whom she loves with a passion that grows ever more powerful as she is forced by this
glorious woman to play each new game of intricate and delightful suffering.

  * * *

  As predicted by Donna, the night is long and hard. And by the time Helen comes to retrieve her exhausted, battered slave, it is a full eight hours later. Still in her flimsy nightgown, the lovely, plump mistress flicks on the light of the small room to find poor Christina still tied tightly in place, her gag still held firm by the thick silver masking tape. The sissy has passed in and out of consciousness, and slept for maybe an hour at most. The rest of the time she has endured cold, hard darkness and the increased numbness of her tethered body. Yet even as the sexy Helen unties her charge, Christina is helplessly aroused. Her erection has been fighting its restrainer with a warrior’s tenacity all night long and, as Helen leans down to pull Donna’s panties from her head, Christina’s bloodshot, tired eyes are filled with the heavenly image of Helen’s very large, rosy breasts barely concealed by the flimsy pink silk material of the night-dress. She moans with a fierce, desperate excitement as her bonds are loosened and the life floods back into her hands and feet. Soon, she is back up on her high-heeled feet, facing her mistress, the tape gag the only remnant of her tight bondage ordeal.

  ‘You stink, Christina,’ Helen announces. ‘Go upstairs and shower immediately. I expect to see you in the living room, fully bathed, perfumed, made-up and dressed in one hour. You’ll find a fresh maid’s dress and accessories in your room.’

  Christina curtseys somewhat shakily and then minces from the cupboard/room, still devastated by the incredible vision of Helen in her nightdress.

  And, as commanded, she returns to her room, strips, removes the gag and virtually staggers into the shower. Yet less than an hour later she is curtseying deeply before her mistress, fully made-up, her wig combed through and sculpted back into its Bettie Page beauty, displaying a new maid’s uniform of spectacular red silk, complete with a cream pinafore, white lace petticoating, seamed red nylon tights, red patent leather stiletto heels, red rubber gloves and a dainty red silk and lace maid’s cap. A vision of crimson loveliness that Mistress Helen applauds.

  ‘A rather miraculous transformation, Christina. Well done,’ Helen says, her genuine admiration apparent in a warm smile.

  Dressed in a formal business suit of black silk, black silk hose and high heels, Helen is, as usual, a vision of perfect dominant womanhood.

  ‘You will find a bowl of cereal and some milk in the kitchen. You have ten minutes to eat your breakfast. Then we are going over to Anne and Amanda’s house.’

  Christina is startled by this announcement. She had expected to be taken to Anne and Amanda’s home at some point, but not dressed in her maid’s finery!

  ‘I’ll take you over in the car,’ Helen continues.

  Christina curtseys her somewhat shocked understanding and minces into the kitchen. Less than twenty minutes later she is sitting rather nervously in the back seat of Helen’s car, being driven by her divine mistress to Anne and Amanda’s house.

  The two women live is a surprisingly large detached dwelling, located in a posh neighbourhood on the very edge of the city. The journey takes nearly forty minutes, and poor Christina spends most of this time submerged in a sea of appalling embarrassment, dressed as she is in the wildly erotic, intricate French maid’s uniform and exposed to the eyes of any passer-by or motorist.

  Helen parks the car in the driveway of Anne’s house and leads her sexy slave to the large white wooden door. Christina is terrified that she will be spotted, but the road around the house appears more or less deserted.

  Helen rings the doorbell and they wait, Christina’s sissy heart pounding with very nervous anticipation. The door is opened by Amanda and Christina feels a sudden wave of very powerful sexual excitement wash over her at the sight of the very beautiful woman. This is because Amanda is dressed in a just above knee-length black cotton skirt, black hose and a pair of very high-heeled courts shoes, together with a very tight black nylon sweater, her beautiful blonde hair freed from its previous intricate fifties movie star styling and now exploding over her shoulders in a golden waterfall. Strangely, this very plump woman looks absolutely fantastic in this tight black outfit. It is almost as if she is possessed by a strange, very powerful sex force, a halo of incredible desirability which makes Christina’s rubberised sex twitch almost uncontrollably.

  ‘She looks absolutely marvellous, Helen,’ Amanda says, her cool, piercing blue eyes holding the stunned sissy in an almost hypnotic gaze. ‘I really am very impressed.’

  Helen smiles modestly. ‘Yes, she’s quite something. And she’s yours for the day. I’ll be back around 6.00 p.m.’

  Helen then slaps Christina’s finely hosed thighs and the lovely sissy minces into the house past a smiling Amanda.

  Inside, the house is light, clean and very elegantly decorated. A long corridor runs through the centre of the ground floor, a number of doors leading off the left side, a steep, thickly carpeted stairway to the right. To Christina’s surprise, the walls are decorated with numerous portraits, all nudes, all very beautiful and very plump women, and most copies of classic Renaissance works.

  Amanda leads a now very nervous Christina into the huge Victorian-style living room and very gently tells her to stand to attention with her hands behind her back.

  ‘You really are quite delightful,’ Amanda purrs, her gorgeous blue eyes eating up her pretty sissy charge, her very powerful perfume washing over Christina like a breeze of desire.

  Christina curtseys her thanks and awaits her first instruction.

  ‘Helen is so lucky to have found you. I’ve always dreamed of having a maid, although a she-male…well, that certainly never crossed my mind. But looking at you…I think Myriam can learn a great deal from you, Chrissie.’

  Christina finds the reference to the pretty French girl very mysterious, but quickly performs another deep curtsey of gratitude.

  Then Amanda begins to circle Christina, her eyes burning with curiosity.

  ‘The dress is very lovely, Chrissie. Anne tells me that Helen has had all kinds of sexy sissy outfits made for you and that you’re addicted to them. Is that true, do you like your feminisation that much? You may talk.’

  ‘Yes, mistress. I love being feminised. I want nothing more than to serve all women as their pretty she-male slave.’

  Amanda laughs and claps her hands together. ‘Dear me, you say that with such enthusiasm! How wonderful! Well, you can certainly serve me all day, but I would like to make one or two small amendments for my own amusement. So to start, I want you to follow me upstairs. ‘

  Amanda then leads Christina from the living room and up the stairs. Christina finds that she cannot take her eyes off of Amanda’s very large, but still shapely backside and her long black-hosed legs, that she is intensely attracted to this very pretty, ample woman, and is filled with an electrical sex-anticipation regarding her proposed amendments.

  Eventually, she is led into a large, beautifully decorated bedroom. At the centre of the room is a huge oval bed covered in white silk sheets. Beside this, the only furniture is a bedside table, a dressing table and a single full-length mirror fixed to a beautifully carved wooden frame and stand. Just beyond the mirror is another door.

  Amanda tells Christina to stand to attention before the bed. The she-male obeys and watches as Amanda goes over to the door by the mirror and pulls it open to reveal a large, walk-in closet filled with rows of beautiful feminine attire and, to Christina’s absolute amazement, the tightly bound and gagged form of Myriam! As the door opens, a powerful light automatically switches on to expose the petite French girl face down on the floor of the closet, her arms pinned behind her back at her wrists and elbows with black silk stockings and lashed to her similarly trussed ankles by a black leather belt. A huge pink rubber ball gag fills her mouth and tears of despair flood from her bloodshot eyes, eyes which squint against the sudden explosion of light.

  Dressed in a white basque, white-seamed stockings and white patent leathe
r stilettos, the poor gallic beauty squeals angrily into her gag, her terror-streaked eyes briefly meeting Christina’s with a pathetic begging look. Her struggles have caused her large, firm breasts to burst out of the basque’s bra cups and Christina can only respond to her hapless gaze with a look of stunned desire.

  Amanda ignores her bound employee, stepping over her squealing, wiggling form with a quite deliberate indifference, and takes a large cardboard box from beside her struggling form. She then returns to the bedroom after closing the closet door behind her.