I watched, struggling with my own terrible sexual arousal, as Dominic was imprisoned in this gorgeous dress. It had already struck me that my aunt had been quite determined to feminise Dominic from the moment I had first mentioned our deeply erotic encounter earlier in the week. In the short period between then and now, she had managed to produce a startling array of new sissy attire. Yet I knew my aunt was more than capable of wielding very considerable resources once her mind was made up!
The impact of the dress on this handsome young man was quite phenomenal. Added to the make-up, the impact of the body stocking on his long, shapely legs, and effect of the tight, cruel mini-corset on his waist, it produced a vision of disturbingly realistic femininity, a sudden and utter change that left Aunt Jane and myself facing a beautiful, if somewhat confused and embarrassed teenage girl.
‘Superb,’ my lovely, fire-eyed aunt whispered, ‘quite superb.’
For a moment there was twinge of jealously. Suddenly, I wasn’t the sweet centre of my aunt’s world of delightful sissification. But then I looked at the vision Dominic had become, and I remembered our long, hard kiss and the bitter, erotic taste of his cock. Now there were two of us, two to share the scented pleasure of this glorious petticoat regime.
As I pondered our joint she-male future, my aunt took a further item of sissy attire from the bed and held it up before us. We cast our wide sissy eyes on a beautiful white silk pinafore which had been hiding beneath the dress. A gloriously old-fashioned explosion of silk and lace that would have been very well suited to a Victorian serving wench. Positioned directly in the centre of the chest area of the pinafore was a large strawberry-red heart, and running diagonally across the heart in an elegant white handwritten style was the word ‘Pansy’.
Poor Dominic’s eyes filled with a dreadful embarrassment as he realised the pinafore was for him, and when my aunt insisted he put his arms out so that she could slip the teasing item of sissy clothing over his shoulders he ever so slightly shook his head and mumbled a sob-choked ‘no’.
My aunt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Unless you want to be spanked until your backside is raw and have a skin irritant-soaked butt plug rammed up your silly sissy arse, I suggest you do as I say.’
I am sure my aunt’s threats actually only increased his already considerable arousal. Like me, he was already lost in the whirlpool of masochistic desire, and was ultimately unable to distinguish between the pain of his humiliation and the pleasure it gave him.
And so he held his shaking arms out and she slipped the dainty, very beautiful pinafore over his puffed silk-covered arms, eventually tying it in place with a huge bow at the base of his spine, a teasingly perfect fit that left him looking even more feminine.
Yet even this was not the end of the evening’s strange dressing. For as soon as Dominic was secured in the pinafore, Aunt Jane returned to the dressing table. In the brief hiatus that followed, I devoured my new sissy friend’s beautiful form, a vision of she-male perfection that was both shocking and arousing. Poor Dominic squirmed in his sissy attire, seemingly not knowing whether to cry or confess his terrible sissy passion. It was all too obvious how excited he was, but it was also equally obvious that he found this kinky ritual deeply worrying. Indeed, when he turned his tear-edged eyes towards mine, we exchanged a strange look of sexual need and matching unease.
My aunt returned from the dressing table with a large, circular pink box. She placed it on the bed and turned to face Dominic.
‘Pansy,’ she purred. ‘Yes, now I’ve seen you in your full sissy finery, I think the name suits you. But let’s just add some finishing touches to make sure.’
She then removed the circular lid from the box and pulled from its depths a stunning, blonde wig, cut in a classic fifties style.
Poor Dominic’s eyes widened even further, but he remained almost angrily silent as my aunt then proceeded to slip this gloriously feminine concoction over his short, blond hair.
I looked on with a furious envy, now convinced that Dominic was receiving special treatment. My aunt had insisted that I remain short-haired and very obviously trapped in a strange grey zone between male and female. It seemed this was not to be the case for my new companion!
The wig worked wonders and the handsome young man called Dominic was now completely lost, replaced with a helplessly simpering and very beautiful sissy who was to be known as Pansy.
‘Very good, very, very good,’ my aunt gushed. ‘Why on earth hasn’t your guardian thought of this before?’
Before ‘Pansy’ could answer, my aunt pulled a familiar pink shoebox from beneath the bed and took from within it a beautiful pair of white patent leather court shoes with stunning five-inch heels! I looked at the shoes in utter amazement, remembering how long it had taken me to get used to heels half this size.
‘Yes, we’re dropping you in the deep end a bit, but Marianne was quite insistent.’
My aunt’s words brought a look of true horror to Dominic’s face.
‘Marianne!’ he suddenly gasped. ‘My…my…foster…’
The words faded as the bedroom door opened and, to my astonishment, a tall woman entered the room, a woman who smiled bitterly through a small mouth and beheld Dominic with a teasing mixture of contempt and admiration.
‘Yes, Pansy, your foster mother,’ she said, walking towards us.
* * *
Marianne Hartley was a very beautiful woman and I immediately began to understand some of Dominic’s more mysterious remarks about her. She was significantly older than Aunt Jane – well into her fifties, but still in very impressive physical condition. She was taller than my aunt, but much slimmer. She wore her grey-streaked black hair very short, a kind of severe page-boy style, made even more intimidating by elegant black-framed horn-rimmed glasses. A figure-hugging grey silk suit clung elegantly to her splendid form, and its long, tight skirt reached down to her black hose-encased calves. Beneath the jacket was a white nylon sweater, and around her very long, slender neck was a band of beautiful snow-white pearls. This vision of dominant feminine beauty was made even more impressive by her own very high-heeled, black patent leather court shoes.
She strolled over to her delicately feminised charge, her hard, green eyes burning into his sissified countenance with a terrible enjoyment. Poor Dominic was already shaking with fear, and as she drew up only a few feet from him, he seemed to shrink significantly before her particularly impressive form.
‘You’ve done a marvellous job, Jane. Thank you.’
‘You chose the clothes, Marianne. You obviously know what suits little Pansy.’
Ms Hartley smiled her thin, harsh smile once again. ‘Yes. I should have thought of this. When you phoned me up…well, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Dominic was always an effeminate boy – always a little too interested in the feminine side of things. Well, now I know why. And I must say, Shelly is as lovely as you told me.’
Her cruel eyes fell on my sissified form and I found myself instinctively performing a very deep curtsey of gratitude, a gesture that widened Ms Hartley’s smile.
‘I think it’s time Pansy was put into her new shoes,’ the stunning, elegant dominatrix announced and Aunt Jane nodded.
‘Yes, you’re right. Shelly, help Pansy into the heels.’
I took the shoes from my aunt, holding the soft, finely sculpted leather with hot, excited hands. I carefully knelt down before the sissy I would now and forever regard as Pansy and rather gingerly positioned the shoes by her hosed feet. Leaning forward, I was very much aware that my black nylon-sheathed backside was fully exposed to the view of my aunt and Ms Hartley, and an electric tingle of masochistic pleasure shot down into my well-plugged arse.
‘Shelly is a very lovely sissy,’ Ms Hartley whispered. ‘It really is amazing just how feminine she is.’
‘Yes, I was startled at first,’ my aunt replied. ‘But in her heart is an inescapable male desire. It’s that which we must control.’
‘You obviously believe very str
ongly in the Bigger Picture.’
‘In the last few weeks I’ve learnt it’s the only way forward for us all, Marianne.’
‘I really am looking forward to meeting Lady Ashcroft.’
‘And she is looking forward to meeting you.’
As I listened to this disturbing conversation, I took one of Pansy’s slender ankles and lifted her left foot into the shoe. A moan of trepidation rang out above me and I swallowed hard into my fat dummy gag. The next foot was then positioned and I knelt onto my backside to view poor Pansy swaying precariously before me, suddenly elevated five inches into the air by the cruel, highly erotic heels, the fabulous finishing touch to her spectacular feminisation.
As I pulled myself back to my own high-heeled feet, Ms Hartley stepped forward and took one of Pansy’s arms. The poor sissy was in a very immediate danger of falling over and she grasped her guardian’s hand with a terrible desperation.
‘Find your centre of gravity first,’ my aunt advised. ‘Once you have that, walking should be less of a test.’
‘Don’t worry, dear, I have you.’
Ms Hartley’s words were suddenly much softer, kinder, a shocking change from the formidable authority figure she had so easily appeared.
Eventually, Pansy, her eyes wide with fear and arousal, her gaze fixed on her marvellous guardian, took a step forward, a step that almost immediately collapsed into a stagger. She fell forward into Ms Hartley’s arms and the beautiful woman held her with a frightening ease.
‘Let’s keep trying,’ she whispered. ‘There’s a good girl.’
And so she did. For the next fifteen minutes, Pansy was helped to totter around the large, elegant bedroom by her foster mother. And, eventually, there was a longer stride, then an independent step. And, then, quite amazingly, Pansy was walking by herself, taking small, dainty steps in these highest of heels, steps that made her pantied bottom wiggle helplessly between the thick layers of sexy petticoating, steps that I knew were forcing the plug even deeper into her backside and driving her crazy with sissy lust; steps that brought a look of helpless she-male pride to her lovely ice crystal-blue eyes. She was performing for her mistress, a sissy ballet of high-heeled minces that left the gorgeous, impressive Ms Hartley elated.
‘Very good, Pansy. Very good!’ she exclaimed, smiling and clapping.
A few minutes later, my aunt suggested that we go back downstairs. She led the way, followed by Ms Hartley. Pansy, her hands resting at her side, wiggle minced after her guardian, becoming more confidently feminine with each tiny, delicate step. I followed, my eyes drinking up her long, white nylon-sheathed legs with deep, hungry gazes, my sex fighting its restraint more angrily than ever, my mind filled with thoughts of my sissy companion’s soft lips and hard, rampant sex.
* * *
It was well after 9 p.m. by the time we entered the living room. Ms Hartley and Aunt Jane sat down on the large sofa and Pansy and I were made to stand to attention before these two beautiful, very dominant women.
‘As you can see and feel,’ my aunt said, crossing her long, perfect legs, ‘Marianne and myself have spent quite a lot of time over the last two days talking about your collective futures. Shelly is already set for enrolment on the special training programme offered by the Sissy Maids Company, and once her examinations have been completed, she will be shipped off to their central training facility. Marianne is very much of the opinion that Pansy should accompany her.’
Poor Pansy’s eyes widened with a sudden anger. ‘No!’ she hissed. ‘I’m going to university – we agreed!’
‘Be silent!’ Ms Hartley shouted.
The fire of outrage burned brightly in poor Pansy’s lovely eyes, but she fell resentfully silent.
‘Your true nature has been revealed, Pansy,’ Aunt Jane added, her voice surprisingly calm, even sympathetic. ‘Your role is to serve women, not to fill your silly sissy head with useless male facts. Although this may seem unfair now, in a few months time, I am sure you will thank us both for bringing you to an understanding of your true self.’
Pansy shook her head and stared angrily down at her pretty, high-heeled feet.
‘You must learn that Dominic has ended tonight, my sweet,’ Ms Hartley added. ‘And so have his aspirations. Now you are Pansy, my slave. And your only aspiration is to serve me; indeed, to serve all womankind.’
‘You will spend the rest of the period before your transfer to SMC being trained here,’ my aunt continued. ‘Marianne has agreed that Pansy can share Shelly’s room until you leave. You will not return to school. I will, however, arrange for you to take your final examinations privately. This is both to protect us from the educational authorities and to ensure that your time at school is not completely wasted.’
Pansy and I exchanged a long, ambivalent look as my aunt revealed our co-habitation. Both of us knew that this was simply another part of the plot to overwhelm any thought of resistance and to entrench our new sissy natures. Desire would be both a tool of control and our reward.
As tears of utter defeat trickled from poor Pansy’s eyes, I tried my hardest not to moan with a dreadful, anticipatory pleasure.
‘Now,’ Aunt Jane continued. ‘It is getting rather late, and I need to talk to Ms Hartley in more detail about the next few weeks. Given that Pansy is still somewhat disoriented by her first experience of panties and heels, we feel that she will need to be appropriately secured for the night. We both feel bondage therapy will do you both a world of good.’
Pansy looked up with frightened, angry and sex-drugged eyes as Ms Hartley then slowly climbed to her very high-heeled feet, a dark, wicked smile crossing her narrow, elegant face.
‘Jane has told me all about her naughty panty gags,’ she said, turning her fierce green eyes on my sissy form. ‘And I think that’s exactly what Pansy needs tonight.’
We both watched in stunned silence as Ms Hartley then proceeded to perform a strange dance of erotic wiggles in her tight, long skirt. Then a pair of white silk panties suddenly dropped around her ankles and she stepped out of them.
As she leant down to pick up the panties, Aunt Jane rose to her feet and went into the kitchen. Pansy, however, hadn’t noticed this, for her pretty sissy eyes were pinned to her beautiful foster mother, who had now picked up the panties and had walked to within a few inches of her gorgeous sissy charge.
‘Open up, Pansy,’ she whispered.
I watched in sexed-up awe as Ms Hartley, who stood at least six inches higher than Pansy, held the panties by their gusset against the she-male’s nose. Pansy’s eyes filled with fresh tears, but she quickly opened her mouth and then the panties were stuffed deep inside.
As Pansy gagged on the gag and squealed her discomfort and arousal, my aunt returned to the living room. She was armed with a pair of her own panties, a thick roll of silver masking tape, plus a pile of black stockings. I looked into her dark eyes and found a deeply exciting sadistic need, and then I knew that the coming night was to be a particularly kinky and exciting one.
Aunt Jane placed her bondage equipment down on the sofa and then took up the roll of masking tape. She passed it to Ms Hartley, who then returned to face a moaning, amazed Pansy. Without taking her eyes away from the tormented sissy, she tore a long strip of tape from the roll and spread it very tightly across the sissy’s lips, sealing the pungent, pretty panties deep and inescapably in Pansy’s mouth. Her rouged cheeks bulged and her blue eyes widened. She squealed with both pleasure and anger. Aunt Jane laughed cruelly then quickly forced her sissy foster son-daughter’s arms behind his/her back and, assisted by my aunt, used one of the sheer black nylon stockings to bind his wrists very tightly together. Then, as poor Pansy struggled and squealed, they turned their attention to me.
Within what felt like seconds, my own hands were lashed behind my back with another stocking and the dummy was being pulled from my mouth.
‘I’ve had these on for most of the day,’ Aunt Jane whispered, dangling her panties before me. ‘As I’ve been
thinking about this little entertainment quite a bit, I’m afraid they’re rather wet.’
With the exposed, soaked gusset furthest to the front, the panties were then rammed into my mouth. I too squealed, but my squeal was quite unambiguous: a sissy squeal of helplessly feminine pleasure, a masochistic cry of delight. I revelled in my slavery and in this dark bondage, I worshipped my gorgeous, all-powerful mistress aunt. I would endure any humiliation for her. I was nothing more than her property. I was ecstatic.
The very tasty panties were quickly taped tightly in place. We were then led from the living room and out into the main ground floor corridor. Poor Pansy moaned fearfully as she tried to totter forward on the impossibly high heels, a moan accompanied by the tinkle of my tiny sissy bells.
We were carefully and slowly helped up the stairs to my bedroom. Here, we were made to lie face down across the width of the pink silk-sheeted single bed. Then, our bondage therapy truly began.
Our arms were further tethered with more stockings at the elbows, pulled so tight that the tip of each elbow was forced to touch. We squealed with discomfort and our sublime, beautiful mistresses rewarded us with hard, angry slaps to our sweetly hosed thighs. Then they set to work on our legs, binding our ankles, knees and lower thighs with more black nylon stockings. Never had I felt so wonderfully helpless, so utterly under the control of powerful, forceful, gorgeous women. I squealed with pleasure, I begged for more, forever and ever.
And as if this delightful entrapment wasn’t enough, further stockings were tied to those binding our ankles and used to pull us into the strictest of hogties. Indeed, by the time our ankles had been lashed to our wrists, the heels of our sexy shoes were digging deep into the upturned palms of our hands and we were squealing painfully into our fat panty gags.
We were truly helpless, utterly immobilised. We lay still, unable to move a muscle. We moaned like frightened kittens and our bound thighs pushed the teasing butt plugs deeper into our arses. Our sexes wailed with a cosmic frustration. The sweet taste of my aunt’s soaking, divine cunt filled my mouth, as did the tang of her urine. Her rose-edged perfume flooded the room and tickled my nostrils. I balanced across the small expanse of the bed, my head fully clear of its silken edge. I looked up at my aunt, a goddess standing over her most humble and devoted subject. Her perfect, black-hosed legs were only inches from my face. She smiled down at me and moved closer, so that I could press my nose against her nylon-encased thigh and fill my soul with the gorgeous smell and feel of her. She laughed and withdrew.
Company of Slaves Page 11
