Silken Servitude

by Christina Shelly

  ‘We’ll discuss it under any other business. Until then, I suggest we stick to the agenda.’

  And so TSC is left for later and we begin a discussion about the distribution of Senso.

  It quickly becomes apparent that sole responsibility for the introduction of the Senso fabric in Northern America will rest with Celine Cherisse, while in Europe, this role will be undertaken by Sophie Berri.

  Like Ms Blakemore, Mistress Celine is a striking black American. However, she is younger and leaner than the wondrous Academy matron, and is dressed in a black silk suit with no blouse, and stiletto-heeled black patent leather court shoes. Her black hair is cut short and worn in a natural ‘Afro’ style. She has a powerful frame, and is an ex-national and Olympic judo champion. She has a cool precise and very businesslike manner. There is none of the humour or generosity of spirit that makes Ms Blakemore such an extraordinary mistress. Yet I have been led to believe that the two women are more than close friends.

  Sophie Berri is also a cool hard-eyed beauty. She is dressed in a below-knee-length tweed skirt, seamed black silk stockings, modestly heeled black leather court shoes and a semi-transparent cream silk blouse. Her thick abundant jet-black hair is held in a loose bun by a black wooden hair pin. Her eyes are a dark blue, her lips a gleaming strawberry red. She has a very firm and surprisingly buxom figure. She wears grey steel-framed spectacles, with harsh rectangular frames and has the air of a Left Bank intellectual. Yet, despite the fact that she is one of France’s most famous philosophers, she is also Chief Executive of a fashion house inherited from her mother, and an ardent supporter of the Bigger Picture.

  So these are the beautiful powerful and senior members of the Bigger Picture, a group overseen by the regal figure of Lady Emily Ashcroft, whose own ice-blue eyes are now drinking up my form with dark gulping looks of sadistic desire.

  ‘Utterly splendid,’ she whispers.

  I blush before this stunningly gorgeous aristocrat.

  ‘You are the model we will use to change the world.’

  And for the next two hours the group begin to plot exactly how this takeover will be managed. Christina takes detailed notes of the discussions and I, perhaps strangely, have little to do, other than to serve the tea when it is delivered by Annette and guide the mistresses through a book of my latest design drawings put together by Ms Blakemore. However, I am far from bored: the detailed discussions regarding the preparations for the Ball and the ‘roll out’ of Senso are utterly fascinating. I am also constantly aware of the closeness of the beautiful Ms Groves, both through her obvious magnetic presence and also by the fact that, throughout the meeting, she caresses my nylon-sheathed inner thigh with a long warm hand. The pleasure this produces is considerable, and I find it difficult not to release a loud moan of embarrassing confession. However, somehow, I find the resilience to endure in relative silence and to concentrate on the discussions.

  Eventually, the discussions on Senso and the Ball end and we reach the terrifying ‘any other business’. A renewed quiver of fear passes over my elegantly sissified form as I contemplate TSC, or ‘Total Sex Change’. At the moment, this is only a punishment for the naughtiest of sissies – those who foolishly break the fundamental rule denying absolutely sexual congress with a female. But within the Bigger Picture, this is not a view shared by all. Indeed, there is a school of thought that argues using male desire to control the sissy once full sissification has been achieved is flawed. This view, held by a minority group who have been christened ‘the Radicals’, argues for total sex change once the point of complete transformation has been reached. The phallus, the Radicals argue, is a tool of oppression, and a Femocracy that allows its survival will inevitably be destroyed. True control can only be ensured by a policy of systematic and full sex change.

  I listen in horror as Mistress Anne argues for a full and proper discussion of TSC. She wishes it to be used, at the very least, as a back-up policy in the event of organised male rebellion. To my surprise, she is supported by Mistress Helen, together with Mistresses Celine and Sophie. Momentarily my eyes meet Mistress Anne’s and I behold a terrible hatred of the male sex, a hatred that informs her dark and deeply sadistic imagination.

  Despite the support of Helen, Lady Ashcroft is reluctant to renew a discussion that has clearly been had on more than one occasion. She is known to be a firm supporter of the ‘Moderate Majority’ and a key force in controlling the Radicals. I have noticed her bumpy relationship with Mistress Anne on more than one occasion, but never before have I seen evidence of a tension between Helen and the gorgeous mature aristocrat. Indeed, it is clear that Lady Ashcroft is surprised by Mistress Helen’s support of Mistress Anne.

  Luckily, the discussion dries up very quickly. Lady Ashcroft’s authority is supreme in the committee and it also becomes clear that Ms Groves, who appears bored by the tension created by the discussion, is firmly on the moderate side.

  ‘Please, ladies. We’ve had this tedious argument on too many occasions. Let’s just agree to disagree and pursue the strategy we’ve approved. If we don’t, we’ll lose too much support outside.’

  Her wise words help bring the meeting to an end, although Mistress Anne, clearly very annoyed, makes it very clear this is far from the end of the matter.

  By now I am in a state of quite unbearable arousal and, as Christina and I totter sweetly from the room, Ms Groves takes me to one side.

  ‘I look forward to meeting you again this evening, Shelly.’

  I curtsey and smile modestly. I feel her hand run across my tightly skirted bottom and a quiver of utter delight pulses through my body.

  Her stunning ice-blue gaze stays with me for the rest of the day. In her eyes I see a new level of power, a terrible familiarity with absolute control that burrows deep down into my soul and establishes an erotic and very firm anchor.

  After the meeting, Christina returns me to the room I nominally share with Pansy. I fear some kinky punishment born out of a renewed jealously, but once the door to the large oval bedroom is closed, she embraces me and plants a long hot quite desperate kiss on my soft strawberry lips.

  I totter backwards on my heels and grab her tightly to maintain my balance and also to communicate a shared sexual need. She grasps my tightly skirted bottom. I gasp as her hands slip under the skirt and she sinks her nails into my panties and hose. There is sadistic intent and angry passion. I respond by begging her to hurt me.

  She pushes me onto the bed.

  ‘Mistress Eleanor is a demon,’ she whispers, her voice thick with sex need.

  I stare up at her, my legs akimbo, my skirt pulled up over my thighs, exposing my panties. My bosom heaves with helpless fury and I feel my tightly secured cock strain painfully against its ever-present layers of cruel and deeply exciting restraint.

  ‘Tonight you will suffer, my sweet.’

  My eyes betray the erotic impact of her teasing words.

  ‘And Taylor will help her.’

  Arousal fades, quickly replaced by fear. Christina smiles and I feel my heart skip a beat.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll want something really imaginative and bizarre, and I’m pretty sure Pansy will be involved.’

  My look of concern deepens and she laughs.

  ‘Oh, Shelly – you are such a terrible tease! You know you’ll love every second of it!’

  I ask her if she has serviced Mistress Eleanor.

  Her smile fades and she nods. ‘Yes, on one or two occasions. She is a very special mistress, Shelly. You will never forget tonight.’

  She then leans down and very slowly slips the sweater over my head. With a loving gentleness, she then unhooks my brassiere and lets my wondrous breasts loose from their teasing Senso silk prison. I cry out with a shocking and immediate physical pleasure as her lips brush against my long hard ultra-sensitive nipples. Then she is sucking hungrily on my left breast and I am screaming helpless love.

  As we are both tightly restrained, oral pleasuring is about as far as this
heated session can go; but given the heightened feeling built into our marvellous chests, this is enough to produce a mind-bending pleasure.

  Eventually, Christina pulls herself off me and tidies her clothing before leaving, her face flushed with frustrated desire, her chest heaving with a terribly erotic desperation. I drag myself up from the bed and wonder at the divine sex madness that fills every inch of this glorious she-male academy.

  Soon after Christina’s departure, Annette enters the room and helps me prepare for my afternoon movement and dance class with Mistress Donna. She notices my obvious dishevelment and teases me as I am helped out of my ‘office sissy’ attire and into a pair of opaque white nylon tights, a matching leotard and a pair of five-inch-high stiletto-heeled court shoes. My hair is combed up into a tighter bun and then pinned into position with the classic SMC rose-shaped clasp.

  The tight white nylon very provocatively reveals the full erect length of my tightly restrained cock, and Annette, who has sampled its delights on more than one occasion, is obviously impressed.

  ‘A beautiful cock and a beautiful pair of tits. The best of both worlds, without a doubt.’

  Her hand runs over its restrained form and I release a high-pitched moan of pained pleasure.

  ‘Mistress Eleanor will have plenty of fun with this tonight, my sexy little petal.’

  I look at her and remember the intimacy of our sufferings during the perverse projection of Vision of the Future. There is nothing we can hide from each other now, and in the look that passes between us, I see both a teasing cruelty and a very definite warning. In Christina’s voice there had also been a hidden concern. Tonight will be a very real and harsh challenge, perhaps the final test before my entry into the more prolonged test of the Placements.

  Annette then ties my hands behind my back and uses a fat white rubber ball gag to silence any further speculation on my part.

  A collar and leash are attached to my neck. This bizarre ritual of bondage is unusual for a trip to Mistress Donna’s dance studio, but I accept bondage like I accept food and drink: with an instinctual gratitude.

  Before we leave, Annette cannot resist spending a few minutes teasing my nylon-sheathed breasts with her hands, leaving me once again squealing and wiggling. She laughs as I struggle and a helpless anger fills my carefully constructed doe eyes. Then anger fades and I am, once again, lost in an addictive pleasure.

  Eventually, I am led from the room and out into the corridor that leads to the dance studio. I wonder why Mistress Donna, always the gentlest and the kindest of the mistresses of the SMC, has deemed it necessary for me to so tightly secured. Then I enter the studio and realise it is not Mistress Donna who has ordered my latest ordeal by bondage; for standing in the centre of the room is Mistress Anne and Celine Cherisse. And standing next to them is Myriam.

  My eyes widen with surprise, especially given that the two mistresses are dressed in costumes that indicate they have more than movement training in mind. Mistress Anne is attired in a black latex cat suit, a jet second skin that reveals every detail of her impressively shapely form. This amazing costume is complemented by a pair of near-thigh-length black leather boots with fierce seven-inch heels and a thick leather belt strapped tightly around her slender waist from which hangs an ivory-handled riding crop. Black latex rubber gloves are stretched across her hands, and a choker of black velvet with a bloody ruby centrepiece is wrapped tightly around her slender pale neck.

  Yet it is not this costume in particular that inspires shock and surprise. It is what is positioned between her legs; for rising out of the crotch area of the cat suit is a large strap-on dildo, a shiny black rubber cock with layers of glistening ridges. I stare at this and moan with an amazed fear into my fat ball gag.

  Mistress Celine wears a red leather satin-panelled basque, black nylon stockings held in place by long black silk and elastic suspenders, and five-inch stiletto-heeled ankle boots. Added to this are a pair of elbow-length black leather gloves. She too is wearing a thick black leather belt, attached to which is a leather paddle and a vibrator control box. And between her legs is her own strap-on dildo, almost exactly the same as the one between Mistress Anne’s legs, but this one coloured a bloody red.

  I look at the two women in a state of absolute shock and Annette tugs violently on the leash. I totter forward, my breasts bouncing helplessly. Suddenly, I feel terribly exposed. Then I look over at Myriam and feel a sickening fear grip my heart.

  The petite French beauty is clad in a black rubber body glove, a single sheath of skin-tight Senso rubber that runs from her feet up her neck and, like Mistress Anne’s cat suit, reveals every luscious contour of her perfect form. A thick strip of black masking tape holds a fat gag in place and her tear-filled eyes are wild with a terrible need, betraying the fact that vibrators are busily tormenting her arse and pussy.

  At first, I think she is balancing on her own, yet close inspection reveals that she is positioned on a circular metal platform and secured by means of more masking tape to a thick silver pole that runs parallel to her tightly cocooned form.

  The point of this strange bondage and humiliation escapes me, yet it’s very pointlessness warns me of the cruelty waiting here, a fact made even more apparent by the look of sadistic arousal that the two mistresses share.

  ‘We thought you would appreciate a little variation on your deportment training this afternoon, Shelly,’ Mistress Anne whispers, her voice a terrible erotic tease.

  I am brought before the two women and then made to kneel down before them, my face only inches from Mistress Celine’s giant terrifying black rubber cock. The sudden brutality in Annette’s movements betrays her own role in this cruel conspiracy. Her earlier kindness was merely a front. Now, she intends to have her revenge against me.

  ‘Wait in the corner,’ Mistress Celine snaps at her. ‘Facing the wall, hands behind your back. We will deal with you in due course.’

  A look of sudden fear and betrayal fills Annette’s beautiful green eyes.

  ‘What?’ Mistress Celine snaps. ‘You thought this was all we required of you … bringing the sissy to us? No, my sweet flower, you’ll also entertain us.’

  Annette curtsies deeply and minces over to the corner, tears of terror already beginning to trickle down her elegant marble cheeks.

  ‘Perhaps we should begin with a little softening up,’ Mistress Celine continues, taking the vibrator controller from her belt and pointing it down at my shaking ultra-sissified form.

  She turns the dial on the control and within seconds the low level buzzing that is my arse’s almost constant companion begins to increase in ferocity. I moan deep into my mouth-stretching gag and soon realise that I am to be very sorely tested by these two experienced and deeply perverted mistresses, for within less than a minute, the vibrator is running at a pitch I have never previously experienced. I squeal helplessly with a terrified pleasure as the vibrator seems to bore deep inside me. A high-pitched electric humming fills the room and I feel the cheeks of my backside begin to wobble uncontrollably. The pleasure imparted by this new level of vibrational intensity is soon replaced by a jaw shuddering discomfort. Mistress Anne demands that I lean forward so that my wobbling buttocks are stretched taut against the fabric of the leotard. As I do so, the two women position themselves so that they have a perfect view of this bizarre display.

  My squeals of genuine discomfort increase and I feel the vibration in my buttocks begin to travel up my body. The laughter of the two beautiful and quite wicked mistresses fills the room. Then, the vibration washes over my breasts and I beg for release from this terrible humiliation. However, there will be no mercy this afternoon; and as soon Mistress Anne notices my helplessly wobbling breasts, she orders me to sit back up on my knees. As I do so, I feel the terrible power the vibrations have over my so intricately and expertly feminised body, and tears of utter degradation spill from my eyes as my breasts bounce before the mistresses like two cats trapped inside tight rubber sacks.

>   They watch this cruel spectacle for maybe ten minutes, teasing me with dark mocking compliments. I try my hardest not to feel anger, to understand the nature of my absolute and eternal submission, to see this as a further test of my true sissy being. But in their eyes I see only a stark unforgiving contempt. Their pleasure is my pain – a pure, simple sadism.

  Eventually, Mistress Celine turns the vibrator down to a level that is nearly tolerable. By the time I am unceremoniously pulled to my feet, my breasts feel quite numb and my anus feels a foot wide. Yet even this is only the beginning of my suffering.

  As I struggle to find my balance in the high heels, I instinctively take in the surroundings, and almost immediately I begin to recognise things have changed.

  Although the basic layout of the studio is as it always has been, a number of interesting and worrying additions have been made to the furnishings. For a start, there is a large, silver-coloured exercise bike a few feet from the mistresses. Also, there is a long leather-covered exercise bench. Beyond the bench is a gymnastic horse. My eyes widen in astonishment as I notice that instead of handles, the horse has three hard rubber phalli rising out of its main body – one on its own and two positioned very closely together.

  The mistresses laugh at my look of fearful incredulity.

  ‘This afternoon, we’re going to concentrate on sissy gymnastics,’ Mistress Anne teases.

  ‘Yes. We’ve got off to a good start with the individual floor exercises,’ Mistress Celine adds. ‘Now it’s time to move on to the team event.’

  I am led across the room to the exercise bike, and as we move closer to it, I notice that it too has been erotically customised. On the face of it, the bike is a typical exercise machine – except for one crucial and highly kinky addition: a single hot-pink hard rubber phallus that rises out of the centre of its black leather seat.

  Mistress Celine orders me to bend forward and I feel her hands slip between my legs. There is a strange tearing sound, which I recognise as a Velcro strip being pulled free, and then I feel the vibrator being slowly eased out of my arse. I squeal with helpless pleasure and receive a very hard smack to my backside. I try to remain silent and still as the rest of the wicked intruder is pulled from my back passage.