Aunt Jane smiled. ‘Oh yes. He was dressing up in my clothes. I actually caught him in my room. As far as I can tell, he’s loved every moment.’
To hear my aunt talk about me as if I were the hired help was both shocking and exciting. There was a regal indifference in her husky voice, a cool, hard, dominatrix contempt that made me love her all the more.
A little while later, more guests began to arrive. A collection of women, all near my aunt’s age, all associated with her life as a model, all glamorous, elegant, all deeply interested in her delicate, tottering, sissified she-male ‘nephew’.
Yes, I was the centre of a constant and teasing attention, and there was very little doubt that being displayed in this pretty, kinky manner aroused me. Indeed, as with the painters a few weeks before, I found that the longer I was exposed to this group of beautiful women, the more feminine, or rather the more sissified, I became. Soon I was taking even tinier steps, wiggling my pantied bottom with quite terrible provocation, demanding that the eyes of my aunt’s lovely friends never left my slender sissy form.
Miss Gillette remained the most fascinated, and demanded that my aunt tell the gathered party my story in an almost perverse detail. And when she questioned my lack of an appropriately feminine figure, Aunt Jane was eager to expound her own particular philosophy of feminisation.
‘I don’t want a boy who imitates a girl, Marie. I want a totally feminised boy. This is much more…amusing.’
Although it was impossible to tell through the thick layer of white make-up, I was blushing furiously as my aunt revealed the true nature of my sissy fate. As I delicately tottered from guest to guest, serving snacks and drinks, making sure to perform bobbing curtsies as I presented myself to each lovely woman, my aunt’s words tormented my pretty, she-male ears and sent bolts of teasing electric humiliation charging across my effeminate form.
‘I see your point,’ Marie responded, her piercing blue eyes burning into mine. ‘But surely, it would add to the fun…if he was still clearly a male, but with breasts!’
The other guests laughed and seemed, on the whole, to agree with Miss Gillette. The thought of breasts sent my already rock-hard sex into a new fit of angry straining. Yes, this had been the heart of my one disappointment: that I was not allowed to have, even via careful padding, the figure of a girl. And as Miss Gillette pleaded on my behalf, I found myself looking over at my aunt with rather desperate eyes.
‘I’m sure you’d love a big pair of boobs…wouldn’t you?’
Miss Gillette’s question was aimed directly at me, a teasing challenge. My aunt looked at me and smiled slightly. ‘Answer her,’ she ordered.
I curtsied and managed to mumble a weak, terrified response. ‘Yes, Auntie, I’d love to have breasts.’
The women laughed even louder, an exciting cruelty in their voices, their eyes inflamed by sadistic amusement, sexual arousal and the fire of a particularly strong Chardonnay.
My aunt stared down at me and I felt humbled before this goddess, this divine ruler of my sweet sissy universe.
‘Well, we’ll see,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll see.’
* * *
It was late afternoon when the final guest arrived. I had been serving the women relentlessly for over three hours and was quite tired when the doorbell rang and I found myself tottering on the darling pink boots down the corridor, my fear now more a deeply masochistic sexual anticipation than any genuine fright.
I opened the door and found myself facing a stunning vision of female power. A woman in her early fifties, standing well over six feet in her high heels and dressed in a very stylish, obviously expensive pale blue silk suit, its jacket held in place with white pearl buttons, its skirt reaching down to just below her nylon sheathed knees. Beneath the jacket, a cream silk blouse, with a high buttoned neck, at the centre of which was a startling diamond broach. Her honey-blonde hair was bound in a tight bun with a diamond clasp.
I curtsied deeply, instinctively, making sure to show my stocking tops and the edges of my befrilled panties. A very slight smile crossed her face, blood-red lips almost moving, and a flicker of surprise crossed her incredibly blue eyes.
‘Shelly, I take it,’ she said, her voice filled with the clipped authority of the British aristocracy.
I nodded weakly and, my stockinged knees trembling, I curtsied again, before very nervously showing this regal beauty into the house.
The other guests turned as one as this still-mature, still-beautiful woman strolled into the conservatory. A broad smile lit up my aunt’s lovely face and she stepped forward, her arms outstretched.
‘Emily! I’m so glad you could make it!’
My aunt and the blonde woman embraced.
‘I would have been earlier, but there were one or two last minute problems at work.’
My aunt kissed the woman’s cheek lightly and then stepped back from the embrace.
‘Girls…let me introduce Lady Emily Ashcroft.’
As I minced into the conservatory, it was clear the women were very impressed by this announcement. Indeed, expressions of awe seemed to be the stock response. She was obviously an extremely important individual, a fact borne out very directly by her stern, imposing physical presence and the look of fierce, almost aggressive concentration that beamed from her crystal-blue eyes, a look she immediately turned upon me as I very nervously tottered up to her carrying a glass of the Chardonnay.
Unable to bear her soul-penetrating gaze, I found myself staring down at her white leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes.
‘I’m impressed, Jane. Very impressed. Shelly has great potential.’
Aunt Jane smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘The costume is utterly appropriate. With some of the sissies, we have to try very hard to make them look truly feminine. But Shelly is clearly a natural…an instinctive pansy, as it were.’
The women laughed and I squirmed with a very genuine embarrassment. There was a contempt in Lady Ashcroft’s voice, a martinet disdain that indicated both a wide-ranging experience of ‘sissies’ and an instinctive authority over all who came within her considerable orbit.
‘I can say without hesitation that SMC would be very interested in training her.’
These words, which shot out of the blue haze of desire which seemed to surround Lady Emily Ashcroft, pulled me from my sissy humiliation. I found myself staring up at her with a mixture of fear, excitement and confusion.
Aunt Jane’s smile softened and her eyes filled with a slightly worried contemplation.
‘That’s very kind, Emily, and I’m sure it might be a logical step for Shelly in time. But for the present, well…I’d prefer to keep her with me.’
‘I suggest you think about that more carefully and come back to me,’ Lady Ashcroft said, an edge of irritation on her voice. ‘We can take her into the training academy at the beginning of the summer holidays. This will give you a little time to develop Shelly, to prepare her for her new life as a maidservant, and to come to terms with the separation from her beloved mistress. The training we offer is both challenging and long term, but it is also guaranteed to produce results.’
My aunt’s smile widened slightly. ‘I know you come very highly recommended, Emily, and I support the Bigger Picture wholeheartedly. We all do. Please let me give it some more thought and I’ll let you know in the morning.’
The other women nodded and mumbled agreement. My confusion and worry deepened.
‘Good. I’ve spent a long time bringing together the various forces required to make the Bigger Picture work. SMC was a fortuitous discovery, and certainly not my idea. But it has become a central plank of the Bigger Picture. The feminisation of the male is the only answer to our problems, ladies.’
More mumbling, more enthusiastic assent. Confusion cracked open briefly to let in a little light. This woman was some kind of politician, and her doctrine, or party, or philosophy, was closely linked to ‘the feminisation of the male’. A bizarre, yet also thoroughly excitin
g revelation! A hint of a secret army of women, all like Lady Ashcroft, whose solution to the world’s problem was to put men in petticoats!
As I tried to ponder this strange twist, as I attempted to fit what was being said here into the events of the last few weeks, Aunt Jane summoned me over and ordered me to serve more wine, her eyes filled with a cold, yet intense triumph, her tone one of a mistress commanding a servant, a tone that filled me not with horror, but with joy. I curtsied deeply, flashing my panties with a teasing smile, and then set about serving this impressive collection of beautiful, wilful, dominant women. Yes, I was their slave, their ‘maidservant’, and this, it seemed, was to be my true destiny. And this thought, more than any other, made my sweetly stockinged knees go weak with a dreadful, titanic sexual arousal.
* * *
During the next few hours the trajectory of my destiny was fleshed out by more information on the Bigger Picture and the enigmatic ‘SMC’, information overheard, imparted indirectly as I served food and drink to this gang of regal beauties, information that flowed in proportion to the wine.
The Bigger Picture was the controversial political philosophy of a group of female MPs and peers, a cross-party alliance of ‘post-feminists’ that actively sought a radical realignment of political priorities away from the affirmation of male desire and control towards the female control of male desire. Couched in a discourse that many thought metaphorical, the group’s main platform, ‘the feminisation of the male’, was seen as a call for a more caring, empathetic approach to politics. But this was no white liberal feminism. The Bigger Picture wasn’t about doing away with control or the mechanisms of control. This was about women seizing the mechanisms of control and using them to subjugate men.
Of course, the Bigger Picture had been roundly mocked and ignored by the vast majority of male politicians and the press, but a significant number of women politicians had broken ranks and voiced varying degrees of support for the new philosophy. The most notable advocate, Lady Ashcroft, had recently been expelled from the Conservatives, and was now in the process of founding the Bigger Picture as an independent political party.
But this also wasn’t just a political philosophy and a breakaway group of female politicians. This was about a practical solution to the control of the male, and a literal process of feminisation, a process that Lady Ashcroft had discovered purely by chance in a lady’s clothing store two years before, a process announced by a she-male slave called Christina and her three unique and very imaginative mistresses. And it was about the company they had founded: the Sissy Maids Company, or SMC.
Lady Ashcroft described the story of Christina’s feminisation and the creation of SMC, a company that offered women the chance to rent their very own sissy slaves for various periods of time, slaves especially trained to perform every manner of domestic labour and, also, expertly tutored in what the gorgeous peer referred to as ‘the erotic arts’. Then there was ‘Christina’s Silken Slavery’, an elaborate website that offered its many, almost exclusively male, members a vast array of she-male photographic erotica, with a very heavy emphasis on sado-masochism, especially female domination and bondage. I listened to all of this in terrified fascination. A secret universe of determined feminisers, a company of sissy slaves, a website offering a doorway to my most secret fantasies!
After Christina, there had been other slaves, mainly, but not exclusively, she-male. The fact that the mistresses behind SMC also ‘owned’ female slaves intrigued me. Indeed, it was soon clear that, while the Bigger Picture sought the feminisation of the male, it also advocated a wider-ranging politics of sado-masochism that transcended gender boundaries.
‘Ultimately, this is all about power, ladies. The power to control. And the most important and fundamental power to control is the power to control desire – whether it be the desire of men or women.’
Although many of the words that were spoken that day were beyond my sissy mind, I would, over the next few years, come to understand in the most intimate and erotic manner the truth of the philosophy that drove the Bigger Picture and its supporters forward. Yet that day I was merely a very confused and helplessly aroused sissy. And by the time the guests began to leave, I knew without doubt that my destiny had been described to me, even if I did not understand its true meaning.
By 9 p.m., only Miss Gillette and Lady Ashcroft remained. Both were to stay the night, and I was ordered to prepare their bedrooms while Aunt Jane sorted out yet another bottle of expensive French wine.
Fortunately, there were two spare bedrooms in the house, and I had nearly completed the room that Lady Ashcroft was due to sleep in when the door slid open and I found myself standing before the elegant, beautiful lady herself.
I curtsied and she smiled weakly, her eyes glazed by drink and, quite obviously, desire.
‘You really are a sexy little thing,’ she whispered, swaying into the room. I stood back and let her collapse onto the bed.
‘I’m utterly exhausted. The drink hasn’t helped. Those two wicked fillies are still at it. But I need rest. Now, help me undress.’
I looked at her in utter astonishment and she burst into hard, cruel laughter.
‘There’s no need to be so shocked, you silly sissy. If you’re going to be a maidservant, that means serving… in any way your mistress sees fit. Now get down on your knees and help me with these shoes.’
Trembling, I curtsied and carefully lowered myself onto my stockinged knees before this imperious beauty. She stretched out a long, shapely leg and I found myself facing an elegant, white patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoe, which I proceeded to ease off her hosed foot. She then offered up her other leg and I shakily obliged.
‘Now kiss my feet.’
My eyes shot up and collided with her terrible, irresistible gaze, a fierce full beam of ice blue that froze my heart and hardened my already steel-reinforced concrete dick.
There was to be no argument. Her awe-inspiring eyes were filled with ultimate authority and a very obvious, if somewhat drunken arousal.
I leant forward and very carefully placed my soft, pink lips against the tip of her pungent, but sexy foot.
‘I said kiss, not pretend to kiss. Do it properly.’
I obeyed without a second’s hesitation, leaning forward and pressing my lips firmly against her hosed toes. As I did so, she suddenly pushed her foot against my mouth.
‘Now suck.’
I opened my mouth and she slid nearly half of her far from petite foot inside. I gagged and moaned, but I also accepted this perverse offering and soon covered it in my worshipful saliva, sucking like a baby on a teat, a gesture of absolute submission. She removed the damp foot and gestured for me to perform the same service for its partner. Eventually, she removed this foot, leaving my mouth tasting of sweat and warm nylon.
‘Help me off with this skirt,’ she said, shakily pulling herself up from the bed.
I stared at her in even greater amazement.
‘I said, help me off with this skirt!’
I climbed to my high-heeled feet and tottered closer to her. She suddenly turned around and presented me with the zipper that ran from the base of her back to the centre of her ample, but beautifully shaped backside.
My hands shaking, my heart thumping across my painted forehead, I fumbled with the zipper and pulled it down. I stood back and let the skirt slide over her backside and thighs and down her legs, my eyes fixed to the spectacle of her splendid buttocks sealed in the white tights and a pair of white silk panties clearly visible through a film of nylon.
She turned back to face me and my eyes rushed to a large damp patch between her impressive legs. I fought to avert my gaze, but this very obvious symbol of her intense sexual excitement was truly unavoidable.
‘The wine always does that,’ she whispered, a drunken smile on her lovely face. ‘Now help me.’
She held out her arms and I helped her slip out of the pale blue silk jacket. The bottom of the cream silk blouse then fell
down around her legs to create an impromptu dress, which she ordered me to remove. A terrible sex heat burned up my feminised form as I nervously freed each pearl button from its nylon-lined eye. My hands brushed against her large, still very firm breasts as I worked my way up from just below her panties, up over her chest and then up to her broached neck. Here she stopped me, unclipped the broach and undid the last few buttons. She then pulled the blouse over her shoulders and allowed it to fall onto the bed. A gasp of erotic astonishment exploded from my painted lips as I found myself staring at large, pale-rose breasts encased in a beautiful white silk brassiere and a lower torso very tightly laced into a Victorian-styled mini-corset, complete with boned panels and an intricate design of gorgeous red silk roses against a white background.
Lady Ashcroft then very carefully lowered herself back onto the bed and stretched her arms behind her back. At first I wondered what she was doing, but then the brassiere loosened its grip and she pulled it free of her body, exposing her naked, perfect breasts to my awestruck gaze.
‘There,’ she whispered through a loud sigh of relief, ‘much better.’
My eyes were glued tightly to her glorious bosom and my poor sex felt like it was about to erupt. I tried to withhold a girlish squeal of angry pleasure and squirmed with desperate excitement in my heels and hose.
‘Get up on the bed, Shelly…beside me.’
My eyes widened, my heart went into sex overdrive and I, of course, obeyed, carefully turning my feminised form and lowering myself onto the bed beside her, my skirt rising up and exposing my stocking tops and pretty panties as my pert bottom sunk into the soft mattress.
‘Now, lie down, so that your head is in my lap.’
I did as she ordered and soon found myself with my head resting against her splendid, stockinged thighs and staring up in awe at her large, matronly breasts.
‘Every sissy must learn how to suckle, Shelly,’ Lady Ashcroft said, her voice now gripped by a very obvious sexual need.
She then gently took my head in her left hand and guided it towards her right breast. My eyes widened and a moan of delightful anticipation escaped my lips, which, within a few very teasing seconds, were wrapped around her long, hard nipple and instinctively sucking, the hard edge rubbing against my teeth.
Company of Slaves Page 5
