Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  ‘In a way,’ Mistress Helen had said during one lesson, as we sat in our special ‘school uniforms’ of Senso black nylon tights, black patent leather Mary Janes, Senso grey rubber gymslips marked with the black rose, Senso white silk blouses and red Senso satin ties (also marked with the black rose), ‘this is the ultimate expression of Marxism, Freudianism and even the writings of Nietzsche via the Marquis de Sade. We have taken the ideas of the greatest minds of patriarchy and transformed them into a genuinely feminist project. Power and aggression, the subconscious, the mutation of desire into a weapon of control, the progression of history through a complex battle of opposing and developing forces. Ultimately, this is all about dialectics, ladies: the urge to destroy and dominate as the motor of history that leads to its own transcendence.’

  I had listened to this learned interpretation of our fate while my anal plug buzzed and my cock struggled angrily with its tight cruel restrainer. I listened to this as my eyes worshipped the startling form of Mistress Helen, dressed in a black silk blouse, an ankle-length black skirt and six-inch-high stiletto-heeled court shoes. An image of pure unquestionable power, a force of power and history bound together in an irresistible force of change.

  And in the Nursery I see this same power and history in the steely gazes and divine bodies of Ms Blakemore and Lady Ashcroft.

  Ms Blakemore leads me back to the playpen. I am told to kneel and then I am tightly rebound. My body vibrates with a fierce need for this sissy bondage, and as I am made so utterly and wonderfully helpless my wide sissy eyes, filled with adoration and thanks, encounter the dark irony of Ms Blakemore’s.

  ‘There we are,’ she whispers. ‘Nice and snug.’

  I moan with pleasure and she returns to the imperial beauty that is Lady Emily Ashcroft.

  As I moan into the sex-stained dummy gag, as I remember the pleasures given to and taken from these beautiful women, Ms Blakemore presses a small pink button built into the far wall by the door and an electric humming fills the room. I watch in utter astonishment as a large rectangular section of the wall slides upward and a long white leather sofa glides mysteriously forward from within the dark recess revealed. The women take a seat on the sofa and the door to the Nursery opens.

  Kathy enters in her splendid housemaid’s attire. She is carrying a silver tray on which rests a bottle of expensive French wine, its elegant phallic form covered in icy condensation, and two tall wine glasses. She curtsies deeply before the two mistresses, revealing thick yet light frou-frou petticoating, heavily befrilled white silk panties and beautifully shaped thighs sealed in sheer erotic black nylon. The mistresses behold her with a desiring interest, eyes appraising her long legs, her firm tight bosom, her soft cherry-red lips, her tightly bound jet-black hair, her gleaming green eyes. She too has met these women and served them in every way. She is Helen’s personal female slave, but in the Company of Slaves, we are all (Pansy excepted) a shared and well used resource.

  At the front of the sofa is positioned a small cleverly attached table. This has dropped into position as the sofa has moved forward. Kathy bends down and places the tray on the table. As she bends forward, her befrilled tightly pantied bottom is fully exposed to my helplessly aroused view. I gasp with pleasure into the dummy gag.

  ‘Is Annette ready?’ Lady Ashcroft asks.

  ‘Yes, mistress. At your command.’

  Kathy’s voice is deep, sensual and clear. She was once the senior manager in the same company that employed Christina and Helen. Now she is subordinate to both and truly happy. Looking at this beauty reminds me of another subtle element of the Philosophy of Desire: although at heart this is a philosophy of control through feminisation, it does not mean there will not be female slaves and, in some cases, male dominants. All have a role to play in the wider politics of power and domination.

  ‘Bring her in,’ Lady Ashcroft continues.

  Kathy curtsies again and turns to leave.

  ‘And tell Bentley to begin the projection at 2.00 p.m. precisely.’

  A few minutes later, after Lady Ashcroft has poured drinks for herself and Ms Blakemore, and they have chatted more about her visit to this mysterious place called ‘Sados’ (a conversation that reveals it to be a private island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean), Kathy returns with Annette. But this is Annette as I have never seen her before, Annette in a state of complete and very severe babification.

  The colour is pink: startling, befrilled hot pink. First of all the dress – an amazing concoction of pink Senso satin and white lace-frilled hoops that run from the high neck down to the very short skirt. Even the long puffed sleeves are hooped with white lace. Over this grand astonishment is tied a white Senso silk pinafore, tied in a very fat sissy bow at the base of her spine. Across the chest of the pinafore is her name, printed in elegant pink handwriting, and directly beneath it is a pink rose. Her hands are tightly bound in pink Senso satin fingerless mittens, which are tied firmly in place with pink silk ribbons. The skirt of the dress is smothered in a lake of multi-layered frou-frou petticoating, through which can be seen large pink plastic panties covered in a very delicate rose petal design. The panties are pulled tightly over a huge nappy. Her legs are wrapped in sheer pink Senso nylon stockings held in place with lovely lace-edged elasticated garters. The stockings are decorated with beautiful diamond-shaped raindrops that sparkle in the powerful electric light of the Nursery.

  Her feet are imprisoned in beautiful hot-pink satin booties that have a much higher ankle wrap than my own; indeed, these booties are almost knee length.

  Over her beautiful red hair, which has now been curled into a sea of sissy ringlets, is positioned a truly spectacular pink Senso silk bonnet, complete with thick front flaps that have been pulled tight over her lower face and above which only her pretty emerald eyes are visible, eyes tormented by the equal forces of deep humiliation and dark relentless desire.

  She shuffles forward, moaning slightly into an unseen gag, a moan that is clear evidence of a buzzing anal intruder very similar to my own.

  ‘How wonderful!’ Lady Ashcroft cries, putting down her glass and rising to her high-heeled feet. ‘A pretty little companion for baby Shelly. I do believe this is Annette.’

  Annette looks up at Lady Ashcroft with even wider eyes before performing a deep desperate curtsey.

  ‘Put her in the pen and then get Christina to help with the suspension sacks.’

  Kathy curtsies and leads a terribly tormented Annette over to the pen. I look up at her with sex-wild eyes. The buzzing in my own long-teased arse has suddenly increased very significantly, and I suspect a sinister hand with a remote control.

  Annette is put into the pen, forced to kneel so that she is directly facing me, then she is tightly bound in exactly the same manner as myself. We are then pushed very closely together, so that our delicately hosed knees are touching.

  Annette’s back is now directly towards the two mistresses, and her wonderful sexy visage blocks out any proper view of the women. I stare into Annette’s gorgeous helplessly expressive eyes and feel a terrible sense of masochistic excitement. Today is very obviously to be a day of imaginative torment at the hands of these wicked stunning female dominants, and both of us are clearly in a state of wild anticipation.

  Within a few more minutes, the lovely senior housemaid, Christina, has entered the room. Easily the most gifted and enthusiastic of my sissy lovers. I see teasing partial glimpses of her and note a change in Annette’s demeanour. There is a sudden look of intense jealously in her pretty eyes. And behind the jealously there is the dark anger and aggression that I have seen on more than one occasion previously, at the core of which is a delight in cruelty, domination and control, a most paradoxical emotion for such a delicately babified sissy.

  I blush and try to avoid showing my desire, thus confessing my past with this stunning sissy. There is clearly a very strong love between Annette and Christina.

  I hear doors open, panels slide apart. There is much strange
preparation beyond us, and Annette appears as baffled as I am to its meaning or purpose.

  After a few minutes, Christina’s long black nylon-sheathed legs enter my restricted view. She is standing a few inches from the playpen. Next to one perfectly shaped leg I can see a long silver pole balancing on a wheeled tripod. I moan inquisitively into the dummy gag and hear a high-pitched sissy titter. She is obviously amused by the no doubt deeply perverse fate that awaits us.

  Seconds later, more black-stockinged legs are in my frame of vision. These, I know, belong to Kathy, Mistress Helen’s personal maid and Christina’s charge. Then another pole. Then the door to the playpen is being opened and the beautiful merciless Ms Blakemore is standing over us.

  She gently turns both Annette and myself so that we are positioned side by side and staring out of the playpen towards the sofa. The maids then position the poles so that they stand at either side of the playpen. I look over towards the pole nearest to me and see hanging from the curved top a large clear plastic bag filled with a thick white liquid. Running from the bag is a clear rubber tube. At the end of the tube is what appears to be a phallic-shaped screw gag. I notice that Annette’s pole has exactly the some attachments.

  Suddenly, Ms Blakemore is on her knees before us. Her skirt rides up her long beautifully shaped and muscled thighs and we moan a chorus of worshipful desire. I stare at the marvellous spectacle of her gently rising and falling breasts and then gaze helplessly into her large golden-brown eyes. She smiles with a genuine love and I feel my sissy heart soar with adoration.

  She leans forward and, with expert elegant hands, unscrews a circular front piece covering the centre of my dummy’s heart-shaped plastic plate. Christina then bends over the railing of the playpen and takes the front piece before handing my gorgeous mistress the phallic end of the rubber tube. Then, to my utter astonishment (and not insignificant concern), Ms Blakemore carefully inserts the phallic end inside the dummy. Indeed, it is soon very clear that the ridged cock-shaped end of the tube is specifically designed to ‘dock’ with or screw into the dummy gag. Thus, I am soon attached directly to the tube that runs up into the sinister plastic bag.

  As I contemplate this bizarre development, Ms Blakemore attaches poor moaning Annette to the tube running from her pole, unbuttoning the thick front panels of her pink Senso satin bonnet to reveal a large hot-pink heart-shaped dummy gag.

  Once we have both been secured, the gorgeous dusky and very ample dominatrix gets to her feet and orders Christina to ‘turn them on’. The beautiful senior housemaid performs a deep panty-revealing curtsey of understanding and utter obedience and turns a tiny plastic tap positioned between the bag and the tube. I watch in astonished terror as the thick white liquid begins to pour down the tube towards my dummy gag.

  ‘Two litres of sugared milk laced with a rather powerful hormonal stimulant and mixed with a cup of sissy spunk,’ Ms Blakemore explains.

  I moan with a mixture of horror and helpless masochistic excitement as the liquid reaches the gag and soon soaks through tiny perforations in the fat dummy teat and seeps into my mouth. For the next thirty minutes, Annette and I drink helplessly, swallowing in order not to choke. For the next thirty minutes we writhe in our intricate babification, the strange, almost savoury taste of the mixture a terrible accompaniment to the on-going and highly peculiar preparations we witness with wide sex-teased eyes.

  As Ms Blakemore and Lady Ashcroft return to the sofa to discuss our sissy fates, Christina and Kathy mince about the Nursery desperately, their legs so close together, their high-heeled steps tiny and delightfully dainty, the sound of their nylon-sheathed thighs rubbing together so very erotically tormenting our girlish ears.

  ‘The Operation will take place next week,’ Ms Blakemore says, her beautiful eyes pinned to Christina’s superbly buxom form as the lovely she-male pulls from a cupboard in the Nursery what looks like a giant pink plastic cock fixed to a metal tripod.

  ‘Recovery will take three to four days, but I am confident that the end result will be flawlessly apparent inside a week. The new techniques I’ve been working on with the lab people are truly revolutionary leaps forward in cosmetic surgery. Christina and Annette were worthy prototypes, but their transformation took many months. With the new techniques, we will be able to guarantee at least fifty fully transformed sissies a week at the production facility on Sados.’

  Lady Ashcroft smiles and nods, sipping carefully from the glistening glass, her free hand idly stroking Ms Blakemore’s finely hosed left knee.

  ‘Splendid. The camp is designed to be a production line of sissification, and your technology will ensure design becomes reality. The training rooms and factory areas are already under construction. The medical facilities will be finished within the year. Once the regional feeder centres are fully established, then we can provide the island with at least ten sissies a week. Within five years, this number will rise to fifty. Within another five, it will have grown tenfold. Then the Femocracy can be fully established.’

  The plan is simple and brilliant: use Senso and a growing band of female disciples to ensnare a suitable group of male submissives, prepare them in the way that Aunt Jane prepared me, then send them to a regional training centre for their induction into the Bigger Picture. Then, they are shipped to Sados where further, more detailed training and the Operation completes their transformation into perfect sissy slaves; sissy slaves who can be returned to their home countries and regions to assist in the further feminisation of even more males – a sinister, exponential process that would create the startling Femocracy of the Bigger Picture within ten years; a transformation of the world on a scale not seen since the Roman Empire.

  As this latest revelatory discussion takes place, Annette and I are consuming the milk and feeling a new level of physical excitation. The already increased buzzing of the vibrator has added a new level of ecstatic torture to the marked additional sensitivity imparted by the kinky drug that laces the milk/semen mixture. Soon, we are both writhing helplessly in our intricate delicate baby bondage and our moans provide a bizarre background for the sinister discussions.

  At the same time as our gorgeous suffering grows, Christina and Kathy set up two of the disturbing giant plastic cocks before the far blank wall of the Nursery. Each one is at least four feet tall, with a long curved and delicately ribbed head. And as soon as they are positioned side by side, the two maids return to the Nursery wardrobe and begin to extract more sissy attire. Yet what might at first seem clothing is soon revealed to be something very different and far more bizarre.

  The maids step forward and lay the peculiar materials extracted from the wardrobe on the floor. Rather than clothing, the materials are revealed to be two small pink quadrangular Senso satin mats, with a long thin length of ribbon running from each edge. Two more familiar items are then removed from the wardrobe: pink nylon body stockings of the kind that Ms Blakemore imprisoned me in during the long night locked in the dreadful beautiful desiring machine.

  A body stocking is placed in the centre of each mat.

  Then, a new and frightening development: Kathy minces over to the far wall of the Nursery. She presses a button near what I take to be a light switch. There is more electronic buzzing. Then a panel in the ceiling opens and, to my sissified astonishment, two thick pink plastic-coated chains descend, each with a gleaming large silver hook fused to its end.

  By the time the maids have positioned the chains directly over the two mats, Annette and I have consumed the milk mixture and our stomachs are heavy with the thick perverse liquid.

  Lady Ashcroft then rises from the sofa and strolls over to the pen.

  ‘I suppose the question you will be asking, and will continue to ask as the afternoon progresses, is how does this torment teach us anything we didn’t know already? Well, that is, without doubt, a good question to ask. And my response is, you are not here just to learn. You are also here to serve, and part of your servitude is to bring pleasure, my sweets: to gi
ve us, your mistresses, pleasure. You undoubtedly do that in a physical sense; but there are some of us who enjoy something a little more elaborate, a little more … involved. I suppose the basic truth is that we are sadists, and that to torment you amuses us. And in that case, there is no real need for any further attempt at explanation.’

  As she returns to the sofa, Christina enters the pen and begins to untie us. In a few minutes, we have been untied, detached from the milk bag and wobbled on our bootied virtually numb feet to the centre of the mats, our eyes wide with fear, helpless fascination and a furious sexual arousal.

  Interestingly, each mat has an oval hole cut into the centre and, as the two maids begin to undress us, I wonder what kinky use this might serve.

  We are soon stripped down to our restrainers. Then, to our further surprise, the restrainers are also removed, as are the large buzzing vibrators. We squeal with helpless angry pleasure as these most intimate symbols of our sissy status and subjugation are removed. Yet no sooner are we facing the rigid purple truths of our kinky desire than we are being helped into the single-legged and armed body stockings and our naked sexes are being pulled through the flower-shaped hole positioned over the crotch section, a hole whose kinky sister is positioned over the dark space between each pert tormented sissy buttock. Then a very familiar device is produced – the ultra-kinky rubber sheath and attached rubber tubing, the device that had so fiendishly fed me my own come in the absolute darkness of Ms Blakemore’s wicked desiring machine.

  This time, there is no mask-like gag. The sheaths are slid over our steely cocks and pulled gently into place. The tubes are fitted with the same ringed phallic ends as those running from the milk bags. They will be fitted to the corresponding slot in the dummy gags. Yet here is the terrible truth of this new arrangement: as we stand in the centre of the strange mats, the tubes leading from our sheathed sexes are attached not to the individual sissy’s dummy gag, but to the other’s.

  Before we can truly comprehend the purpose of this latest humiliation, we are made to sit in the centre of the mat, so that our exposed bottoms are positioned over the hole. Then, our arms are forced behind our backs and bound tightly together at the wrists and elbows with white nylon stockings. We are then forced to pull our knees up towards our chests. Our ankles and knees are then also secured tightly with more stockings. Then, in this strange position, we must watch helplessly as the satin mats are drawn up around us, creating a sack that engulfs our squashed tethered forms completely, consuming and very tightly constricting our sissified forms into two satin balls.