Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  ‘Myriam will be joining you for the evening,’ Christina says, her sultry voice cut through with cruel sarcasm. ‘As an observer.’

  While we stare in helpless astonishment at the fetishistic beauty of Myriam, Annette retrieves two more sheer nylon body stockings from the wardrobe. These are very similar to the body gloves employed by Ms Blakemore and Mistress Helen, with strategically positioned lace-edged holes at the front and rear of the groin area, and fingerless hand coverings seamlessly attached to each arm.

  Before being ordered into the body stockings, the tight rubber restrainers and the cock rings are removed with the usual theatre of helpless sissy squeals, and we are allowed a full view of our sissy cocks for the first time since the Transformation.

  Both are still dyed a bright hot pink, and we both retain the gleaming silver rings attached to our pierced scrotums. Yet, although it is hard to believe, we both notice a distinct increase in length.

  The senior maids titter girlishly at our surprise and Myriam stares at our stiff elegantly curving cocks with a dark unyielding hunger.

  ‘A slight extension, courtesy of Ms Blakemore.’

  Despite the fact that Christina had already taken me on the first night after the Transformation, she has never removed the restrainer. Indeed, I was very tightly bound and gagged and face down when she took me, and my sole function had been to be the tormented receptacle of her own considerable sex.

  As soon as the restrainers are removed, we are ordered into the teasing body stockings. The extra sensitivity imparted by the Transformation makes the kiss of soft white nylon on our expertly sissified bodies all the more delightful, and we both squeal with helpless pleasure as we wiggle into the stockings. This pleasure is made even more acute when we are ordered to pull each other’s sexes through the lace-edged holes, so that our new improved cocks and the fat almost bulging balls that accompany them are fully exposed. We stare into each other’s wider, more doe-like eyes with a terrible passion as we gently guide each other’s rock hard cock into position.

  Then we are made to lie on the bed face down and a new bondage sculpture is prepared. Using the familiar white rubber-coated cording, our wrists are crossed and tightly bound. We moan with masochistic pleasure as our elbows are then tied tightly and very painfully together with yet more cord. Our legs are then similarly secured at the lower thighs, above and below the knees and at the ankles. Then, a final familiar touch: a longer length of cord is attached to the cording binding our ankles and pulled tightly up our nylon-enveloped bodies before the free end is tied to our tethered wrists. Thus we are both secured in a very tight and severe hogtie. It is at this point that the vibrators still lodged deep inside our arses begin to buzz angrily at full blast and we fight screams of insane sissy pleasure.

  Once tied, we are turned to face the side of the bed where the maids and Myriam are standing. Being hogtied, we have to pull our heads up quite painfully to get a reasonable view of what happens next.

  Before our straining sex-maddened eyes, Myriam is prepared for her role as ‘observer’. Her wrists are fitted into hard pink rubber shackles. The shackles are then attached to lengths of slender silver chain, which are pulled behind her back and attached to an eye bolt fixed into the room’s rubberised flooring, bending her body back painfully. A white leather collar is fixed to her neck and a further length of silver chain is attached to a metal loop at its front. This, in turn, is connected to a further eye bolt positioned in the floor directly in front of her, providing a counterweight to the pressure exerted on her back by the rear chains and thus holding her in a painful upright position.

  Tears of pain begin to trickle from her eyes: she knows there will be no mercy this evening.

  A very large white rubber ball gag is then stuffed into her soft sexy mouth and strapped tightly into place at the base of her slender neck. Her eyes widen further, her splendid breasts rise and fall rapidly in their tight nylon prison with a girlish fear, and the two maids admire their kinky handiwork, both very clearly aroused by the sadistic power they possess over Myriam and the two helpless ultra-horny sissies.

  Yet the French beauty’s sufferings are far from over.

  As soon as Myriam is secured in this terribly uncomfortable standing position, Annette extracts a small metal box from the bedside table and takes it over to the stretched French beauty. She opens it teasingly beneath the lovely girl’s eyes and Myriam immediately begins to squeal with genuine terror into the fat gag and shake her head rapidly.

  It is only when Christina extracts two golden nipple clamps that we understand the reason for her reaction. The poor girl squeals furiously as the sharp teeth of the first clamp are stretched open and then applied to the long stiff nipple of her left breast. Anger and pain fill her dark sexy eyes and her damsel in distress squeals rise an octave as serrated and finely sculptured metal bites into tender damsel flesh. Without batting an eyelid, Christina then applies the second clamp, leaving the gorgeous slave girl struggling desperately and very erotically.

  The senior housemaid then steps back to admire her cruel handiwork, a sadistic smile on her beautiful face, her own dark eyes filled with a sinister sexual arousal.

  ‘There – all ready for a night of considered contemplation.’

  The two sissy maids then turn their wicked attentions to us.

  First, we are turned onto our sides, and then two more metal boxes are extracted from the bedside drawer. Almost immediately we begin squealing with our own very real fear, knowing exactly what is inside and thus the torture that awaits us.

  Christina applies the clamps to my large perfectly formed breasts as Annette works on the lovely helpless Pansy. Soon, the two of us are wiggling and squealing with a terrible desperation. The heightened sensitivity of the breasts makes the teasing pain of the clamps even more apparent, and the tortuous consequences of this are soon apparent in our wide tear-soaked eyes. Yet our sissy mistresses show no mercy, and we are very quickly positioned so that I am directly facing Pansy’s huge angry cock and she is facing mine. This is a position previously employed by Aunt Jane and Ms Hartley, and the night of pleasure this brought us was a very important turning point in our relationship as sissy lovers.

  Yet whereas that splendid night was an evening of voluntary pleasuring, tonight’s bondage sculpture will be designed to ensure only enforced sexual torment. For no sooner are we facing each other, our beautiful new breasts so cruelly tormented, than Annette is slipping what appears to be a bright pink rubber eyeless hood over Pansy’s head. Yet what is very unusual about this hood is that there is a very obvious mouth section that has been lined with a thick ring of white rubber, and as the hood is pulled tightly into position, it becomes clear that the ring is designed to fit inside the mouth and force it wide open, thus creating a bizarre mouth gag. And seconds later, I too am being plunged into a very similar ultra-kinky hood, and very soon my own sissy mouth is forced painfully open and I am gasping with fear and deep discomfort. Yet this is not the end of our torments.

  Lost in a world of rubberised silence and darkness, I feel a thick collar being attached to my neck. A chain or similar leashing device is attached to the collar and then my head is pulled violently forward. I feel Pansy’s hard hot cock press against my cheek and then I feel my head being manipulated so that her substantial phallus is gradually forced into my helpless mouth. And at the same time as this dreadful humiliation is being visited on me, so exactly the same fate is being visited on poor Pansy. We are to be hogtied together, hooded and forced to spend the night sucking on each other’s permanently erect sissy cocks.

  I feel my own cock press against the roof of Pansy’s mouth and make a strange squeal of despair into my own widened cock-filled mouth. Then there is an odd stillness and I know that our wicked captors have left us to our awfully kinky fates. And I know that poor pretty Myriam will not be freed from her dreadfully uncomfortable ‘viewing position’ for the rest of the night, and that the belt secured so tightly around her wa
ist and between her legs holds two large vibrators, one lodged in her sex, one forced deep into her arse, and that both are now buzzing furiously and she is screaming her agony and ecstasy into the fat ball gag without any hope of release for at least the next eight hours.

  And as we all writhe furiously and helplessly, the victim of the senior sissy maids’ dark jealous plotting, we learn something fundamental about the Bigger Picture, something that the Mistresses, the Masters and the other sissies will never admit to: at the heart of its intricate history of desire is the frailty of human need and the hunger for power through aggression; that the society of the Bigger Picture painted so carefully in the startling Visions of the Future video, is little more than a picture of another form of totalitarian state, a dictatorship of women, a sado-state rather than a Femocracy. And in this way, what Lady Ashcroft and Mistress Helen and the illustrious Eleanor Groves plan is just a variation on the classic theme of the human will to power. Yet to me, even in my state of ultimate torment, this is merely the way of things, and the society offered by the Bigger Picture clearly has many advances over the various patriarchal dictatorships (and so-called democracies) that have dominated world history for over a millennium. And then there is my own deeply masochistic sissy desire. Although, even in the heat of the strongest need, I can contemplate political philosophy in a bizarrely abstract way, there is no escaping (mentally and physically) the overwhelming erotic truth of my own sexual drives, my own massive masochism. And this is demonstrated so very clearly by the helpless pleasure I am now finding in this latest torment. As I suck on Pansy’s cock, and as she sucks on mine, and as we work each other towards the first of many explosive orgasms, I realise there is a profound truth at the heart of the Bigger Picture that lurks in all fascist ideologies: the love of submission, the need to surrender your very desire to live to the Bigger Picture.

  6

  Discovery

  DESPITE THE CHALLENGES posed by the mistresses and their other lovely slaves, the rest of the two weeks of adaptation are filled with pleasure, excitement and revelation.

  As we are trained to adapt to our glorious new forms, as each day brings us closer to the true nature of she-male femininity, my emergence as a figure of note within the spectacular conspiracy of the Bigger Picture continues.

  We are less than a week away from the Annual Bigger Picture Fundraising Ball. Then the spectacular manor house will be returned to one of its key historic functions: the hosting of major social events. At the Ball, the slaves will serve not only the mistresses and masters of the SMC, but the increasing army of wealthy influential female supporters of the Bigger Picture. Here they will hear a keynote speech from Ms Eleanor Groves, the ex-First Lady of the United States of America, a controversial figure following her very public divorce from the President, and also a rumoured presidential candidate in four years’ time.

  In her speech, Ms Groves will outline the remarkable progress that has been made and plans for the next year, the most crucial year so far for the Bigger Picture.

  I have been privy to much of the planning for the event, thanks to my selection, along with Christina, as a joint secretary to the Bigger Picture Strategy Committee, a group of the key mistresses: Lady Ashcroft (in the Chair), Mistress Helen, Mistress Anne, Ms Blakemore, together with a number of key figures associated with the Bigger Picture outside of the UK – Celine Cherisse (an American business-woman), Sophie Berri (a famous French intellectual who has held a number of important positions in the French Government) and, most impressively, the divine Ms Groves.

  The Committee has previously been serviced by Christina alone, who was a senior administrative manager in her male life, and possesses many of the skills required to make the committee function at an operational level. I have been brought along for another reason – the design of the new generation of Senso clothing. Christina accepts my presence at these meetings without comment. Indeed, as we approach the Ball and the Placements, her feelings of jealously towards me seem to have faded considerably.

  When Ms Blakemore told me I had been selected for a new, much more responsible role, I was filled with a strange mixture of pride and fear, especially when the membership of the Committee was revealed. I was to meet Eleanor Groves, one of the most famous women on the planet. Yet by the time I am led down the ground floor corridor of the mansion house on the actual day of my first meeting, my sissy heart is thumping with a desperate terror and a terrible arousal.

  To my astonishment and deep pleasure, we have been freed from our more overtly sissy maid attire and presented with what Ms Blakemore describes as ‘office sissy’ wear. In my case, this is a very tight white Senso nylon sweater which extenuates my generous and perfectly curved bosom to perfection, a black Senso rubber micro-mini that barely covers the tops of my black Senso nylon-sheathed thighs, and stiletto-heeled court shoes of jet-black patent leather. My hair is bound in a tight bun, with the standard rose-shaped diamond clasp. My lips are painted blood red, with a hint of pink rouge on my cheeks. I feel fantastic. I take small expertly feminine steps. I feel my buttocks wobble and my breasts bounce. The vibrator buzzes at a low but deeply teasing level, and I walk confidently beside the gorgeous Christina.

  Christina is dressed in a very tight silver blouse made from Senso satin, a grey pinstriped micro-mini cut from expensive Italian cloth, silver-grey Senso nylon tights, and exactly the same court shoes as myself. She looks utterly stunning, especially with her hair styled loose thick and long, and with her lips painted a hot pink.

  Christina knocks on the door to the Committee room and the familiar sharp voice of Mistress Helen snaps ‘Enter!’ I feel my pounding heart slip into my mouth and follow Christina into the room.

  A large circular table dominates the room. Around it sit the most senior women of the Bigger Picture. Christina and I perform our deepest most submissive curtsies and face our divine mistresses.

  Our eyes fall with helpless fascination onto the form of Eleanor Groves. I find it hard to believe I am standing only a few feet from the woman who was the First Lady of the United States for eight years.

  She rises from her seat as we rise from our curtsies.

  ‘Introduce us, Helen.’

  Her soft precise American voice fills the room without even trying; the voice of profound and absolute authority. Helen smiles and guides her towards us, a strange, almost maternal pride in her large dark-brown eyes.

  Ms Groves is dressed in a splendidly elegant and highly fashionable two-piece suit of a creamy yellow silk. Underneath the pearl-buttoned jacket is a high-necked white silk blouse. The skirt falls just above her knees to reveal long shapely legs sealed in white silk hose. Her shoes are white silk-lined, five-inch stiletto-heeled pumps.

  At fifty, she looks barely forty. Her blonde hair is cut very short, and her striking pale-blue eyes regard us with a gaze trained in the art of objective observation. I avoid this unnervingly frank look and consider her splendid almost voluptuous figure, remembering how the press had initially worshipped this woman as a form of sex siren. Indeed, during almost the entire period of her husband’s presidency, she remained, for whatever reason, more popular than him. And looking at her now, it is easy to see why.

  ‘This is, as you know, Christina,’ Helen says, inspiring the lovely Christina to perform an even deeper knicker-flashing curtsey.

  Ms Groves smiles gently. ‘Yes, I remember her well. The first born.’

  Christina swoons with a very feminine admiration and blushes furiously at these teasing words.

  ‘And this is Shelly.’

  Ms Groves turns her stunning gaze directly upon me and I feel close to losing consciousness. A soft cloud of rose petal perfume suddenly torments my nostrils and, as I breathe in her beautiful aroma, I perform my own deep and utterly submissive curtsey.

  ‘Shelly,’ Ms Groves whispers. ‘Your latest creation. She’s gorgeous, Helen. Utterly gorgeous.’

  Now it is my turn to blush. I press my knees together and sway on th
e high, high heels. I feel my chest rise and fall with a helpless sissy desperation. I am complete as never before. I am in a state of almost transcendent bliss.

  ‘Bring her to me later on.’

  Mistress Helen smiles and nods and I look at her in amazement.

  ‘You should be deeply honoured, Shelly.’

  I nod and curtsey my startled gratitude. I am to serve Eleanor Groves in the privacy of her own apartments.

  I am made to sit next to Ms Groves, while Christina sits by Mistress Helen. The two main items on the agenda are the introduction of my Senso designs into the ‘fashion chain’ and the upcoming annual fundraising Ball. However, Mistress Anne almost immediately insists that a third item be discussed, an item that sends a cold shiver of pure fear down my sissy spine.

  ‘I really think we should talk again about the issue of TSC.’

  Mistresses Celine and Sophie nod their agreement and Helen mumbles a slight ‘Yes, it’s time we decided exactly what the position is on this.’

  Lady Ashcroft smiles wearily. ‘I thought we had agreed what the position was.’

  ‘No. We argued and then walked away from a decision.’

  Mistress Anne’s voice is filled with a typically unforgiving hardness and Lady Ashcroft visibly flinches at the redhead’s abrasive tone.