The next two weeks pass in a dense fog of perverse desire, frustrated need and the steady, inevitable development of Chris into Chrissie, a sissy she-male maid whose only aim is to serve her mistresses in any way they see fit.
The morning after his amazing bondage adventure, he bathes and perfumes his body with a new fascination, remembering the way in which the incredible maid’s uniform had transformed his body and, without a doubt, his soul. To shower, he must remove the stocking, an act of sheer torture that brings tears of appalling frustration to his tired, sex-tortured eyes. Then, once dried, he must replace it, moaning angrily and desperately as he slips the sheer, soft fabric over his rampant crimson sex and ties it tightly in place with the silk ribbon. And after the pain of the stocking, he must face the teasing pleasures of the strange silk suit. His freshly restockinged sex complains bitterly as he first slips into the sexy white silk teddy and then glides his most expensive pair of black silk tights up his freshly shaven and scented legs. The violent, unending erection stretches angrily against the nylon stocking and also against the tight, soft silk material of the teddy. He stares at himself in the mirror and feels a strange, narcissistic attraction to the deeply ambivalent image that confronts him. Memories of maid Chrissie, the beautiful she-male Bettie Page lookalike, come flooding back and he moans helplessly with a powerful, all pervasive pleasure, a deeply masochistic pleasure, a pleasure which has made him its absolute slave.
The suit itself is as light as silken air and a disturbingly perfect fit. It caresses his body and when he moves it is as if he is covered by a sheet of the sexiest, softest and flimsiest of materials imaginable. And, as he carefully secures the knot in his black silk tie, there can be no doubt in his mind that, despite its design and function, this is the most feminine of garments. As he slips his hosed feet into the patent leather shoes, as his eyes study the way the trousers encase and accentuate his long, feminine legs and particularly how they fit so tightly and provocatively around his shapely backside, he knows the suit is in fact designed to expose very subtly rather than hide his femininity. As he moves in the suit, as he walks from the bedroom to the living room, he feels the power of the sissy she-male in a way that he has never felt before, a power that he can no longer control, a power that has taken complete possession of his body and now forces him to take small, mincing steps and make dainty, delicate gestures, to behave in a completely new yet at the same time deep-rooted manner.
To walk out onto the street, suddenly to be among other people, in the hard, harsh, no longer deniable real world is a truly terrifying and at the same time totally electrifying experience. At first, he is convinced that everybody is staring at him, that every pair of eyes is filled with loathing and disgust and directed angrily at this strange girl-boy. Yet after only a few minutes it becomes apparent that no one is actually staring at him; indeed, the ease with which he disappears into the agitated commuter mob is almost embarrassing.
By the time he gets into work that morning he is almost comfortable with his new, distinctly feminine appearance. He makes sure he arrives before his mistresses, so that he can prepare their morning coffee without a difficult interruption. He moves around the office kitchen with a feminine grace, preparing coffee and biscuits and ensuring that a hot cup and two biscuits are placed at the desk of each mistress only a few minutes before they arrive. Then he enters his office, slips off the beautiful black silk jacket and becomes immediately aware of a terrible, unavoidable effect of the suit trousers. The silk blouse is tucked neatly into the trousers and as he looks down at his waist area, he sees that the trousers are so tight around his crotch and buttocks that his erection is quite blatantly apparent, stretched tight against his waist like a large, thick metal pole. As there is no zipper attached to the trousers, he cannot make an effective adjustment. So, utterly humiliated, he rushes behind his desk and quickly sits down behind it. Yet no sooner has he made himself rather fearfully comfortable than the door to his office opens and the gorgeous, imperious Helen strolls into the room, forcing him to rise from the desk and present himself before her, curtseying deeply, his face crimson red, his utter degradation complete.
‘You look lovely, Chrissie,’ Helen whispers, a quite wicked smile lighting up her beautiful, dark-featured face.
Chrissie curtseys his appreciation, his eyes pinned to her high-heeled feet.
‘But you’re rather obviously excited by it all, and I’m sure the other ladies in the office will find that particularly amusing.’
He moans despairingly as she fights a sadistic laugh and knows immediately that the trousers have been purchased with these humiliating consequences well in mind, thus that part of his training during the next two weeks will be, whatever Helen may have said to him previously, a very public humiliation. Yet even as this terrible knowledge sinks deep into his sissified heart, his excitement increases. And this too is an essential part of his training: to enjoy each new, deliberately humiliating test and to enjoy it in exact proportion to the size of the embarrassment he must endure: the more he is humiliated, the more excited he becomes.
And so, after giving the stunning Helen another gentle and very erotic foot massage that brings a series of helpless moans of pleasure to her perfect, blood-red lips, he faces this new day of sissy servitude with a tortuous mixture of terror and intense sexual excitement, his paranoia about exposure now doubled by its apparent justification.
Although there is no direct comment, he is painfully aware throughout the office of the sniggers and the strange, vaguely contemptuous looks, and his sense of male self, always weak, always prone to easy damage, slowly but surely crumbles to a speck of memory. And he remains in this state of discomfort, doubt and worry for most of the day, right up until the glorious moment when he is led back into Helen’s spare room and slowly transformed back into the gorgeous sex bomb she-male that is the maid Chrissie.
And it is during that very night, as he minces in the ultra-high heels, wiggling his hosed and delicately pantied bottom with such enthusiasm before his mistresses, that he learns even more about the expectations of these beautiful, demanding women. After he has served dinner and spent an hour tottering back and forth between the dining table and the kitchen, the women retire to the living room and Chris is made to stand to sissy attention before them.
‘I think it’s time for you to learn a little bit more about our needs, Chrissie,’ Helen says, a conspiratorial smile lighting up her sublime face. ‘As I’ve mentioned before, part of our plans for you include ensuring that you are able to give women physical pleasure, a very special kind of pleasure that Donna has told us you are already rather good at providing.’
He listens, but there is really no real need for explanation. He curtseys his understanding and obeys without hesitation as Helen insists that Chris kneel before her and place his hands, wrists crossed, behind his back, wrists that are then quickly and expertly bound together with a length of the rubber cording by Anne. He then watches as Helen raises up her long, black skirt to reveal her shapely, black-stockinged legs and her fully exposed and very wet sex, her panties clearly having been removed earlier.
‘I hope you don’t need telling what to do next, Chrissie,’ Helen purrs, as Chris shuffles forwards on his hosed knees and positions his head between his mistress’s legs, his heart pounding like a mad jack-hammer in his head, his own nylon-restrained sex fighting its sensual prison with a blind and utterly useless fury.
The smell of Helen’s sex, the elemental scent of cunt, smashes into Chris’s pretty face long before his anxious, darting tongue tentatively licks at the droplets of sex-juice dripping from her pubes. Then Helen’s hands are grasping his head and pushing his face deep into this black forest of dark, eternal desire. And it is only a matter of a few seconds before Chris’s instinctively expert tongue has slipped through her bush and deep into the tunnel of love, quickly seeking out her boiling, slippery clit with a slave’s helpless desire to please.
Helen comes almost immediately, her thighs suddenly closing around Chrissie’s feminised head and squeezing him painfully as she lets out a loud moan of almost painful pleasure that fades slowly into a bass growl of contentment. Her legs part and Chris is allowed to pull his come-soaked face free of the dark, pungent prison. But, inevitably, this is only the beginning; for no sooner has he freed himself from Helen’s sweaty clutches than Anne has swivelled around his tethered, petticoated frame and presented the poor she-male with her own dark, uniquely perfumed sex forest. And after the strange pleasure of bringing the lovely, cruel-eyed Anne to a thunderous, screaming orgasm, he is placed between Donna’s lovely marble thighs and left to service his most beloved mistress.
Left exhausted by this terrible, demanding pleasuring, he is then once again panty-gagged (this time with Anne’s most intimate garment) and placed in the tightest of hog-ties. Yet rather than imprisonment in the cupboard, he is now left to squirm helplessly on the floor before his mistresses as they recover from his expert ministrations, a recovery that involves the rapid consumption of two bottles of wine and a great deal of laughter and swearing, most of it at their new slave’s expense.
If there is a point at which time turns into a whirlpool, an endless, disorienting succession of intensely erotic adventures collapsing into each other with no real sense of the past, present or future, it is this one, this moment of absolute bondage, this come-splattered coda to an evening of perverse but beloved submission. Days pass and even more bizarre, erotic adventures mark their coming and going, but the fortnight leading up to his induction proper into the realm of slavery is truly a dreamtime, a landscape without beginning or end across which he totters in the highest of heels and the tightest of bondage, a landscape made even more intense and alien by the fact that his own sexual release now seems to have been completely banned. Although Donna remains friendly and even loving towards him, it is clear he will not be allowed to get anywhere near her in a sexual sense until his full induction has begun. And so the sexualisation of every moment of every day is assured, as is his increasing masochism and femininity.
Yet reality is not that easily cast aside, and for Chris, the world of work is its meanest, most brutal manifestation, and on the Wednesday before his ‘special leave’ begins, he again finds himself confronted by the severe, angry form of Katherine, his line manager.
‘I’m afraid there is nothing else I can do to help you now, Chris,’ she says, her voice riddled with the hypocrisy of false sympathy, her shark eyes betraying the pleasure she takes in this ridiculous, pathetic expression of power. ‘Nothing has improved since our last talk and I can’t allow the situation to deteriorate. So I’m issuing you with a formal warning. I’ll also be taking the matter up directly with the Personnel Office. When you return from this leave you insist on taking, I intend to undertake a complete review of the office and its management, with the aim of removing those members of staff who are failing to meet the set performance standards.’
It would be an exaggeration to say that he actually listens to this grim monologue of spectacular self-importance. But what he does do is watch Katherine’s eyes; for at no point during this verbal spanking does she in fact look at him: her eyes are directed through the open door of his office, out towards Helen, who is sitting at her desk, typing. He also notices that Helen infrequently looks up from her computer screen and holds Katherine’s gaze in a very frank and obviously sexual manner. The rumours of Katherine’s lesbianism have always struck Chris as typical office gossip, but recently, on more than one occasion, he has noticed the strange, furtive looks she exchanges with the lovely Helen and the rumour has seemed to approach fact.
Then, during a pause in this tongue-lashing, Chris, perhaps to his surprise, confronts her.
‘Are you happy, Katherine?’
At first she responds with a distracted grunt, but when he repeats the question, she turns to face him.
‘What? What on earth does that mean, am I happy?’
‘You don’t seem very happy. You seem rather frustrated.’
Her initial response is a slightly incredulous gasp. ‘I wouldn’t be too concerned about me, Chris: I’d be concerned about you , about how happy you’ll be feeling when you’re unemployed.’
With this last, harsh remark she turns and leaves the room, her distinctly masculine stride as stiff and angry as the tired, bleak and very desperate gaze she fixes upon the lovely, regal Helen.
As she leaves him, he feels no anger, not even a sense of irritation. Instead, there is only the inescapable truth of his ongoing transformation and the simple fact that he is now absolutely certain he cannot go on working in this soul-destroying, pointless job, and thus that his future most assuredly lies at the high-heeled feet of his glorious, beautiful mistresses.
* * *
Two days later, he reports to Helen’s house in the full knowledge that he is about to spend the next two weeks continually feminised and enslaved, spending every waking second serving his mistresses and undergoing a detailed induction into a new level of sissy servitude. As he enters Helen’s house, it is almost immediately apparent that things have changed. Helen is dressed in a tight black sweater and a very long black skirt that reaches down to her black-hosed ankles. A choker of silver pearls is wrapped around her surprisingly slender neck and she is wearing a pair of very high, black patent leather mules. As usual, he avoids her soul-burning, majestic gaze and meekly follows her up the steep flight of stairs to the spare room that has become the locale of each highly erotic and increasingly detailed feminisation.
And it is in the spare room that he confronts the strange, terrifying truth of this new level of his sissification. For where before this had been a simple, somewhat sparse spare bedroom, he now finds himself in the centre of a very large and utterly bizarre baby’s nursery! Where there had been a small, functional single bed, there is now a large, adult-sized and metal-barred cot. One complete wall of the room is now lined with rows of wooden shelves upon which rest a vast and bizarre collection of materials, including ultra-large nappies, baby bottles, dummies, rolls of masking tape and the ominous black rubber cording, a number of lengths of very odd-looking rubber tubing, fat rubber ball gags of all colours, paddles of various sizes and, to his final shock and utter astonishment, a series of ribbed dildos, all of varying length. And if this wasn’t strange enough, positioned by the cot is a large baby’s high-chair and directly opposite the cot what appears to be a huge playpen filled with dolls and a disturbing variety of other baby playthings.
As he stares in horror at this new, ultra-kinky chamber, Helen steps in front of him and orders him to strip naked immediately. Despite the strangeness of his surroundings, he obeys her without a moment’s hesitation, noticing as he does so that the walls of the room have now been painted a very striking hot pink and that a new, thick white carpet has also been fitted. How such a transformation could have taken place in just twenty-four hours is something of a mystery, but Chris has become very much aware that Helen can, when inspired, work miracles.
‘You’re probably wondering about the new room design, Chrissie,’ Helen says, a slight, cruel smile on her lovely face.
Now stripped down to his tights and panties, he curtseys and nods his head warily.
‘We’ve decided that, in order to ensure the necessary level of mental conditioning required for your new role, and to eliminate the last, fundamental traces of your masculinity, it will be necessary to reduce you to the status of a baby girl. You will therefore spend the first seven days of the induction period completely babified. The only time when you will be freed from this condition will be the dance and deportment training you will receive from Donna.’
Despite his surprise and shock at this new, devilish twist, he can only curtsey his assent and wiggle sexily out of the tights and panties, his still tightly stockinged sex popping up angrily as the panties are pulled down over his silken thighs.
‘If you perform as a baby girl with sufficient skill, you will be allowed to progress to the level of full maid training at the end of next week. You should note that part of this next level of training will include ensuring that you can pass as a woman in public.’
Amazed, appalled, yet also helplessly aroused by this extreme development of his feminisation, Chris soon stands naked before Helen, his nylon-sheathed sex pointing up at his flat stomach like a terrible harbinger of doom for his already considerably weakened sense of masculinity, yet his eyes betraying a deep and inescapable excitement.
Helen’s smile widens. She then steps forwards and slips her hands over his rigid cock. He gasps with surprise and frustration and cannot avoid staring up longingly into her beautiful dark brown eyes.
‘Yes, it’s been a long time since you came, Chrissie, and it’s clear that you’re suffering. But I’m afraid suffering is very much a key component in your training. Actually, I’m surprised you’ve managed to control yourself so well during the last two weeks. All you need to remember is that this, your angry little cock, is no longer your property – it belongs to us, to your mistresses, as does the rest of you, body and mind. If you manage to get through the next seven days, then there will be a reward, a reward that I’m sure will make all this suffering worthwhile.’
The stunning dominatrix then begins gently to tease the stocking off Chrissie’s boiling, rock-hard sex, producing more whimpers of frustrated despair. And as she discards the damp, warm stocking, a smile of true sadistic glee crosses her lovely face. It is clear that she is deeply aroused by Chris’s humiliation and frustration, and by her complete power over him.
‘Now go to the bathroom. Wash, shave and perfume yourself as usual, then return to me. Take no more than twenty minutes.’
In the shower, his mind races with thoughts of the week ahead, of his impending babification and of the other mysterious plans this beautiful, determined woman has for him. The desire to masturbate is almost unbearable, and he finds himself racing through his preparations to escape temptation and is soon once again standing before Helen, his cock, like the rest of him, at very firm attention, his heart pounding with a helpless, sissy anticipation.
Helen appraises his body with a cool, detached eye, plotting the map of his babification, pondering the true, devastating extent of a new level of terribly exciting humiliation. And the first item of feminine attire she produces is a very sheer, white nylon stocking. Before his wide, madly aroused eyes, she then proceeds to cover the stocking in a mist of powerful rose-scented perfume, her own gorgeous, soul-melting brown eyes quickly capturing his gaze, her smile now a beautiful warning of torments to come.
‘Eyes down, please, Chrissie.’
He curtseys and diverts his gaze to her splendid black patent leather mules, her sexy toes, painted a blood red, clearly visible through a fetishistic film of black nylon.
Then she steps closer, her hands still within his range of vision, and he can only watch in excited and horrified anticipation as she rolls the scented stocking into a ball and then begins to gently slide it over his burning, aching, sex-maddened cock.
His agonised squeals of tormented pleasure inspire a grunt of utter contempt from his beautiful, unyielding mistress. Soon tears of frustration are trickling down the poor sissy’s crimson cheeks and he is fighting to prevent his girlish buttocks from wiggling in an almost sluttish dance of sexual agony.
‘The stocking was Donna’s idea,’ Helen whispers. ‘She really is a very imaginative woman. You’re very lucky to have her as a mistress.’
Once the stocking is pulled firmly into position, Helen then takes up a long length of pink silk ribbon and uses it to tie the gentle nylon prison tightly in place, securing the ribbon with a large, babyish bow at the base of his very full, almost bulging testicles.
Yet even this terrible torment is not the end of his sexual sufferings; for no sooner has Helen secured the stocking than she has returned to the dressing table and taken from it the strangest object he has yet seen. At first sight, it appears to be a weird metal sculpture – two small metal hoops joined by a curved silver bar. As she returns to him, he quickly returns his gaze to her feet.
‘You may look up now, Chrissie,’ she says, standing only inches from his tormented body.
As he raises his eyes, she holds the strange device before him and then clicks open one of the two hoops. She then repeats this process with the second hoop, her smile widening as his confusion increases.
‘As I have made clear, Chrissie, the key to your training is restraint. You are already learning this, but with the induction we must step onto a new plateau of denial, a new stage in the arena of overcoming and self-control. And I’m afraid this will involve a certain amount of suffering, but suffering is part of the core of true submission. Without it, you can never truly understand what it is to surrender completely to a mistress.’
As she speaks, she draws the device towards his rigid, sheathed sex and it doesn’t take too many seconds before Chris realises that it is designed to fit over his already tortured cock!
And as Helen slips the open hoops over his stockinged sex, her words, spoken in a voice of pure velvet, strike deep into his sissy heart.
‘Yes: a rather wicked cock-restrainer, designed to prevent full erection and thus to make ejaculation impossible. The more excited you get, the more painful the resistance of the restrainer, as I’m afraid you’re about to discover.’
It is then that she clicks the two hoops shut around his tightly stockinged sex. The metal instantly bites deep into the engorged flesh of his cock and he releases a helpless cry of genuine pain.
‘I suggest if you want the pain to go away, you think of work.’
Her teasing, black comic words only add to his discomfort. To make matters worse, the restrainer pushes the soft nylon of the stocking deep into his stiff sex, and in some strange way manages to make the erotic caress of the delicate nylon material even more exciting!
As tears of genuine pain well up in his wide, baby girl eyes, Helen then orders the poor sissy to bend over and spread his legs wide. Horrified and agonised, he leans forwards, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the thick white carpet and then slowly spreads his legs wide apart, his painfully restrained sex pressing into his stomach, the feel of cold, utterly unforgiving metal an awful announcement of this new level of control.
Unable to see Helen, he can only listen fearfully to her movements and await the next bizarre turn of the screw. And this soon becomes terribly apparent as her hands suddenly rest on his buttocks, but it is not her skin resting against his skin – her hands are sheathed in a soft, cool fabric: she is wearing what feel like rubber gloves!
‘It isn’t just your cock that will need special attention, Chrissie. There is also your arse. Donna has already told me that you find anal stimulation very exciting, and this is very important for your development as a sissy she-male. We want you to learn that this particular orifice is a source of a very real and intense sexual pleasure. Indeed, we want you to come to regard your anus as the primary source of sexual pleasure. So as we control and restrain your cock, we will train and excite your arse.’
He listens in absolute amazement, initially horrified by the idea that he is to be denied sexual release from his cock and trained instead to find his pleasure through what amounts to anal sex! Yet even as these terrified thoughts are flooding his mind, Helen is slipping a well-greased, rubber-sheathed index finger deep into his back passage and the true extent of the pleasure offered by this stimulation is becoming blindingly apparent. Indeed, the helplessly loud, sissy moan of arousal that escapes his pretty mouth as Helen pushes her finger as deep as it will go is all the confirmation she needs that Chrissie is indeed the ideal subject for the plans she has drawn up for the creation of the perfect she-male maidservant.
Once satisfied that his anus is sufficiently lubricated, Helen slowly removes her finger, producing another moan of helpless sissy pleasure. He then waits in a state of even more excited and fearful anticipation as Helen moves about the room behind him. Eventually he becomes aware that she is standing behind him once again. Then there is the strangest, most disturbing sensation: something hard, cool and rather sticky is being pressed into his back passage!
‘Just relax, Chrissie. It’s only a small anal plug. Over time we’ll increase the size of the plugs, and very soon you’ll be able to accommodate the most substantial of intruders.’
He gasps, he moans, he squeals as the anal plug, a phallus-shaped piece of hard pink rubber, is slipped slowly and carefully deep into his anus. This is the most intimate and profound invasion of his remaining masculinity, a terrible, yet incredibly exciting ravishment that opens a new door of physical sensation and reveals the true nature of the pathway to sissidom that lies beyond.
Once the plug has been pushed firmly and inescapably home, Chris is made to stand. As he does so, as his thighs come together and his legs straighten, the plug is pushed even deeper into his back passage and another helpless, hopeless moan trickles from his girlish lips. Even worse, the strange pleasure provided by this bizarre intrusion also sends particularly powerful signals of arousal to his inflamed and tightly imprisoned cock, creating yet more discomfort! This will be the awful dialectic of his feminisation: pleasure followed inevitably by pain.
He is truly appalled by the startling power of the pleasure induced by the plug. Although he had experimented with Donna, nothing has prepared him for the weird delights of the anal plug!
‘I can see you’re enjoying yourself, Chrissie. And that, as you now no doubt realise, is a punishment in itself. The plug and the rings will remain in place permanently for the next seven days. They will only be removed to allow your natural functions.’
He listens, or rather tries to listen, as the battle between pain and pleasure rages across the landscape of his feminised form. And he watches with tears of frustration and confusion filling his lovely eyes as Helen walks over to a newly fitted extra-large wardrobe and slides open its long, white doors to reveal a spectacular array of babified femininity, a row of adult-sized little girl dresses in a suitable selection of sissy colours: hot pink, bright yellow, snow white, pale blue. Each dress is made from gleaming satin, each is covered in frills and thick frou-frou petticoating. Indeed, it quickly becomes apparent that, besides the wide variety of colours, each dress is in fact identical!
‘I had them made especially, Chrissie. One for each day of the week. An essential part of any true sissy’s wardrobe.’
Poor Chris moans as Helen selects a hot pink dress and brings it over to the bed. As she carefully places the dress on the bed, her cruel smile increases and their eyes inadvertently meet.
‘That’s the second time you’ve failed to avert your gaze, Chrissie. If you do it again, I will spank you with a hairbrush on your bare bottom. Now I suggest you get a good look at this lovely little item, while I prepare your other baby attire.’
The threat of a spanking is merely another terrible tease, another evil tickle of his outraged, tortured sex. And as Helen returns to the wardrobe, he can only stare at this lovely, intricate dress and feel a yet even more painful sexual arousal. As previously noted, the dress is cut from a very expensive, hot pink satin. It has a very high, white pearl-buttoned neck, which is topped off with a row of very thick white French lace. The bodice and very short skirt are covered in what appear to be a pattern of roses and the skirt itself, as well as being frilled with the same ornate lace as the neck area, is laden with inches of spectacular frou-frou petticoating. The long, puffed arms of the dress lead down to pearl-buttoned, lace-trimmed sleeves and another row of pearl buttons traverse its back, from the base of the short skirt right up to the bottom of the neck section.
And as he stares in utter bewilderment, Helen returns carrying a large pile of even more embarrassing dainties. She dumps them on the bed and then begins carefully to sort out the various items before his wide, horribly excited eyes. A thick towel nappy, white nylon, self-supporting stockings, a very large pair of white plastic panties, a pair of delicate pink silk booties with pink silk ribbon laces, a white leather mini-corset, and a pair of pink silk fingerless mittens.
‘I think this is everything,’ Helen says, almost speaking to herself. ‘I ordered most of it from the internet. You can find anything on it.’
She then takes up the thick nappy and tells Chris to spread his legs. As he looks on, his face crimson with shame, a sense of devastating humiliation dissolving what remains of his sense of masculinity, she slips the nappy between his legs, draws it up over his soft, feminine buttocks and pulls the two ends of the thick to welling fabric together around his slender waist. Then, from her skirt pocket, she takes a very large, silver safety pin and secures the two ends tightly together, her cruel smile widening by the minute. The nappy is followed by the stockings. She hands the first pretty, ultra-sheer white stocking to Chris and tells him to put it on. As he sits down on the bed, the plug presses even deeper into his arse just as the cock ring presses harder into the unfortunate flesh of his engorged cock. It is difficult to tell whether the resultant moan is one of pain or of pleasure, and Chris is fast coming to realise that there is now probably very little difference between the two.
The stocking feels wonderful against the silky smooth, scented skin of his leg and as he guides it up over his knee and along his thigh he feels a familiar and very intense thrill. Unfortunately, this thrill also ensures that his poor, brutalised penis is locked in an even tighter, more painful grip by the terrible, unyielding restrainer and once again he finds himself releasing a series of highly ambiguous moans as he secures the self-supporting stocking around the top of his thigh, a process which he then repeats with the second stocking, with the same, rather predictable results.
After the stockings come the white lace-frilled plastic panties. Seemingly huge, thick and embarrassingly noisy, he pulls them up his legs with a sense of complete damnation. Now he knows there is no turning back from this bizarre turn of events, this headfirst dive into the whirlpool of babification. And once the panties have been wiggled into place, Helen takes up the compact, streamlined white leather mini-corset and wraps it around his already slight stomach, her hot, excited breathing caressing his chest and shoulders like a delicate virgin’s kiss as she carefully works the corset into place, then takes up the white rubber laces and begins to pull very hard.
At first, Chris feels only a slight discomfort, already used to the restrictive effect of the corselette, but it quickly becomes apparent that Helen intends to move beyond the previous levels of figure training and soon the pressure being applied to his waist is considerable, if not downright painful.
‘Restraint, Chrissie. Remember what I have told you: restraint is everything.’
Her words are of little comfort as the air is pushed from his lungs and fat, sissy tears begin to well up in his pretty eyes. But then the pressure has levelled out and Helen is tying the laces tightly into place. He is appalled by the pressure on his waist and feels sure he will soon pass out. Helen, however, is disturbingly indifferent.
‘It may feel unbearable, Chrissie, but you’ll soon get used to it. I think you’ll be surprised by just how much restriction your waist will take, especially after the diet takes effect. Believe it or not, I think there’s at least another inch we can take off you.’
His eyes widen in horror at this last sentence, yet, to his amazement, he finds himself nodding with a resignation that is more evidence of his absolute enslavement and devotion to this stunning, fiery-eyed woman.
After the corset comes the dress, the amazing, intricate, soul-consuming dress. He watches in pained fascination as she slowly unbuttons this spectacular pink creation and then holds it teasingly before him. As he steps into the dress and she begins to draw it up his body, a sense of utterly divine surrender washes over him. The true, deep, nerve-tingling pleasure of absolute submission to this stunning woman has never been more apparent than at this exact moment. He swoons in her powerful, sensual grasp as she pulls the dress over his feminine shoulders and neck and then begins carefully, slowly, erotically to secure each of the gleaming white pearl buttons, sealing him tightly and totally into a realm of absolute baby girl servitude. His tormented cock struggles against nylon, metal and towelling, buried deep in a sweet prison of endless sissification, as Helen’s long, deceptively gentle hands secure the buttons around the very high neck of the dress and the lace frillies tickle his pretty, dimpled chin.
‘You look gorgeous,’ she whispers, her soft, damp lips brushing against his ear. ‘Tell me how much you want this.’
‘More than anything, mistress,’ he gasps, as her hands wander beneath the dress and into the sea of frou-frou petticoating fixed to the wide, short skirt. ‘I want to be your slave forever. I want nothing else.’
‘I’m sure we can arrange that,’ she replies, her beautiful, deep voice resonating with sexual arousal. ‘But how much do you want to be restrained, to be nappied, to be tightly bound and gagged, to be utterly, endlessly humiliated?’
As her sex-honey-coated voice teases him, her hands slip down his plastic-pantied bottom and between his legs. He moans, he wiggles in her warm, teasing embrace, he feels the pain of the restrainer and the pleasure of her wicked caress.
‘I want it so very much, mistress. I want to be kept this way forever.’
She takes his hands and guides them to her full, heavy breasts. Helplessly, urgently, he begins to caress these tightly restrained orbs. Then, once again, their eyes meet. Yet he fails to avert their powerful, hungry, animal gaze. Instead, he falls into it, into this look of nova-bright sex, this cosmic heart of a savage, eternal passion.
‘I told you what would happen, Chrissie. You’ll be spanked. Soundly. Bound, gagged, in this delicious baby state, and then spanked.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
But there is no spanking there and then. Instead, suddenly, shockingly, she pushes her she-male slave away and takes the pair of pink silk booties from the bed, telling him to sit down as she does so. Dazed by this sudden change of mood, he finds himself obeying and then watching with adoring eyes as Helen proceeds to kneel down by her slave and then slip the dainty, elegant and incredibly sissy booties over his stockinged feet. She secures each bootie with a thick pink silk ribbon lace tied in a fat, babyish bow, then rises to face him.
‘Before we go any further, I think a spot of suitably sissy make-up is required.’
She then takes him by the hand and leads him over to the dressing table. Walking in the booties is surprisingly difficult. Indeed, it soon becomes apparent that, because they have no real soles, the booties slip relentlessly against the soft, thick carpet and normal walking of any kind is impossible. Instead, he finds himself shuffling absurdly behind his mistress, fighting desperately to keep his balance, yet with his eyes still pinned hungrily to Helen’s beautiful, black-hosed ankles and very high, black patent leather mules. And, as well as the problem of balance, there is the inescapable torment of the plug and the restrainer. As he shuffle-minces forwards, the movements of his stockinged thighs and nappied, pantied buttocks exert a powerful pressure on the plug and seem to push it deeper into his anus, thus increasing the waves of teasing pleasure that pour between his legs and up into his tightly restrained sex, and thus increasing the discomfort so relentlessly provided by the fiendish metal re-strainer.
Once at the dressing table, he finds himself facing the strangest manifestation of Chrissie yet, a very attractive, very feminine but still obviously male slave imprisoned in an intricate and very sexy baby girl’s dress!
‘Yes,’ Helen whispers, recognising Chris’s concern, ‘you do look rather odd. But it won’t take me long to fix that.’
And so he watches as this gorgeous, plump beauty sets to work on his face, applying a heavy tan foundation followed by a much lighter, almost cream-coloured facial paint, a mixture which produces a startling pale marble effect and leaves his face looking vaguely like that of a nineteenth-century china doll. This impression is then heightened by the application of two large circles of hot pink rouge to his very feminine cheeks followed by exactly matching lip colouring. A pale blue eye-shadow is then applied, to match his lovely, girlish eyes. Despite his previous experience, this transformation is still quite shocking, and suddenly he is facing a beautiful doll-like sissy, a babified masterpiece which is then stunningly topped off by a truly marvellous blonde wig, a mass of carefully sculpted baby curls which Helen, her eyes filled with a now familiar erotic fire, holds before his reflection with a broad smile.
‘I had it made specially, Chrissie,’ she purrs. ‘The perfect topping for this lovely sissy cake.’
Chris gasps with pleasure and surprise as she then proceeds gently to guide the wig over his head and pull it firmly into place. This final act of transformation is perhaps the most profound for, within seconds of the wig being positioned, Chris finds himself confronting a beautiful, wide-eyed, helplessly pouting baby sissy doll, a fantasy creation straight out of his most intense dreams of enforced feminisation and servitude. He moans with she-male pleasure as the full extent of this new work of sissy art comes alive before his amazed, sex-maddened eyes. Yet his are not the only eyes filled with the dark heat of desire. For Helen is staring at her creation with an intensely erotic surprise.
‘My, my,’ she mumbles. ‘My, oh, my.’
And as he stares at this gorgeous manifestation, he knows he can never ever truly be a male again, that this is the final stage of the destruction of what little remains of his sense of masculinity. Yet there is no sense of loss here: as he revels in this dainty, befrilled creature, he celebrates a beautifully irreversible changing and a true changeling. At last he is free to cast off the shackles of a masculinity that has always felt forced, artificial, inauthentic.
As he surrenders so willingly to this glorious babification, Helen slips away to the wardrobe, returning a few moments later with a very large pink cardboard box. She places the box on the table before him and then quickly returns to the bed to retrieve the lovely, delicate mittens. Chris watches in a state of ecstatic anticipation as Helen places the mittens beside the pink box and then opens a drawer in the dressing table, taking from within it a small, black wooden box, little larger than a soap dish. She places this box next to the mittens. She then picks up one of the mittens.
‘Hold your left hand out, Chrissie.’
Trembling with deeply masochistic excitement, Chris obeys, his sex struggling painfully in its metal prison, his sweetly hosed thighs pressing together to force the plug deeper into his anus and ensure that even more powerful shock waves of pleasure crash into his beautiful, sissified body.
Helen slips the petal-soft fingerless mitten over his outheld hand, and it is only now that the quivering she-male notices that the mitten is fitted with a row of exquisite pearl buttons down one side of its pink silk and satin surface, and that the glove is designed to slip under the frilled sleeves of the dress. On closer examination, it also becomes apparent that there are a number of tiny holes in each sleeve of the dress and that the mitten can in fact be tightly secured to the dress sleeve via the pearl buttons. And as the mitten is secured over his hand, he becomes aware that the sexy, babyish glove is lined with surprisingly thick rubber, which effectively immobilises his fingers. As Helen secures the second glove, an even more profound and complete sense of utter helplessness washes over him and he almost cries out with a wild sissy pleasure.
After double-checking that the mittens are tightly positioned, Helen takes up the small wooden box and slides open its lid to reveal, to his surprise, a very large baby’s rubber pacifier resting on an equally large pink plastic base, attached to the ends of which are two long pink silk ribbons! And if this wasn’t strange enough, the huge teat of the dummy is shaped exactly like a penis!
‘You will be kept dummy-gagged permanently during the first week, except when you are fed or we need your mouth for our own pleasure. Now open wide.’
He obeys and Helen teasingly slips the large rubber phallus deep into his mouth. The teat almost fills his mouth to bursting point, flattening his tongue against the floor of his mouth and making even the most pathetic of squeals impossible. The plastic base fits over his painted lips perfectly and once the ribbons have been tightly tied in place in a fat sissy ribbon at the back of his becurled head, it creates a perfect seal and adds to the devastatingly effective power of the gag.
His eyes wide with fear and angry arousal, the sense of feminine weakness and helplessness now at its shattering peak, poor Chris can only watch in silence as beautiful, ample, flame-eyed Helen, a smile of triumph spreading across her gorgeous face, then opens the large pink box and takes from inside it a truly spectacular and very beautiful adult-sized baby bonnet, an epic wonder of sissification designed to add the final cosmetic touch to this spectacularly erotic transformation.
‘It really is quite beautiful, Chrissie. You’re a very, very lucky sissy.’
Poor Chris finds himself nodding helplessly in agreement at the sight of the stunning bonnet, a mass of very fine pink silk trimmed with a very intricately patterned white lace, a long, thick pink silk ribbon running from each frilled, curved end and a very large silk rose fixed to the front right hand side. As Helen pulls it over his wigged head he manages to force the slightest moan of almost transcendent pleasure from his so efficiently stopped mouth and, as the thick ribbons are tied in place beneath his sissy chin in a very fat, sexy bow, the gorgeous, tormented she-male is truly lost in a state of pure ecstasy.
Satisfied that the bonnet is adequately secured, Helen then helps Chris to his feet and leads him over to the full-length mirror built into the front of the new wardrobe. As his complete reflection is revealed, Chris gasps silently into his tight, phallic dummy gag. The vision of sissified loveliness before him is almost too ideal, too perfect, an image from his most extreme dreams of absolute domination and submission brought to grand, spectacular life. A beautiful, baby doll she-male, her long, shapely legs wrapped in the finest, sheerest white nylon, her feminine frame encased in the darling baby dress, her lovely, china doll face surrounded by the intricate, helplessly sweet bonnet, her eyes wide with excitement and sissy anticipation.
‘You look perfect, Chrissie, even better than I could ever have imagined,’ Helen says, her own continuing excitement all too apparent in her gorgeous golden-brown eyes.
Still stunned by his sissified visage, Chris is then led over to the playpen. Helen releases the clever child-proof lock and helps Chris inside, insisting he stand with his arms behind his back, facing away from her. There is then a brief pause, during which Chris’s sense of feminine helplessness intensifies to such a terrible, passionate level that he finds himself wiggling uncontrollably.
‘Dear me, you are getting all heated up,’ Helen says, taking his wrists, crossing them and then binding them tightly together with what feels like another piece of the rubberised cording. She then repeats this process with his elbows, forcing them together and binding them painfully tight, and a moan of discomfort fights to escape Chris’s well-stopped mouth. Then, to his surprise, she forces him to kneel down in the centre of the large metal-barred pen, but now so that he is facing Helen and the door to the room. She has three more lengths of the cording in her hands and a very wicked, almost horny smile on her face. She kneels down by his bootied ankles and uses two lengths of the cording to bind tightly together his ankles and knees.
Chris is thus totally immobilised in the centre of the pen, a trussed sissy completely at the mercy of his beautiful, utterly determined mistress. Yet his bondage is not complete, for no sooner has she finished binding his ankles than the third and final length of cording is used to bind his tethered ankles to his tightly bound wrists, thus forcing him into a kneeling hog-tie which effectively denies him the opportunity of any form of movement. Not only this but, as the final length of cording is secured, the weight of his sissified body is forced onto his thighs and backside, which in turn forces the anal plug even deeper into his back passage. And if this isn’t enough, the helpless sitting position forces the very tight corset to dig even deeper into his sides. Thus, the poor she-male beauty is locked into a very uncomfortable and also very exciting bondage, a state which can only serve to heighten his deeply masochistic pleasure and make him crave even greater humiliations.
Having trussed her sissy slave so securely and wickedly, Helen rises to her sexy, high-heeled feet and steps out of the playpen.
‘I think you need a little while to come to terms with what’s happening to you, Chrissie,’ she says, her lovely, deep voice cut through with sexual arousal. ‘So I’m going to leave you here for about an hour or so, then come back with Donna and Anne. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled by what a sexy little sissy you’ve turned out to be.’
He stares desperately at her lovely back as she glides from the room. As an added touch, Helen turns as she reaches the door and releases a truly erotic smile of endless promise. The helpless sissy squeals uselessly into his fat gag as her hand wanders teasingly towards the light switch. But his protests are, of course, futile. Helen flicks the switch and then leaves the room, locking the door and plunging poor Chris into an absolute, yet highly erotic darkness.
* * *
In the complete darkness of the room, Chris struggles in his baby bondage for over an hour, trying desperately to avoid becoming too aroused by this ecstatic imprisonment and thus relieve the terrible, sadistic pressure on his stiff, tormented sex. Yet the position he has been tied into has been designed to inflict the maximum excitement and therefore the maximum discomfort and, without the distraction of sight, he is forced to concentrate completely on this awful, yet perversely exciting struggle for virtually the whole period of his so-called ‘contemplation’. Tormented by the restrainer, fiercely aroused by the plug, his body teased by the gentle fabrics caressing his shaven, scented body, the only contemplation he is capable of is the contemplation of his tethered body and its bizarre ordeal at the hands of the divine Helen.
By the time the sound of a key turning in the door lock rings in his sissy ears like bells of liberation, he is covered in sex-sweat, moaning relentlessly and straining angrily but quite uselessly against his various, inescapable bonds.
The door opens. Light from the hallway floods into the room to reveal a very shapely, dark figure. Then a much brighter light floods the room and he is temporarily blinded. And by the time his eyes begin to focus, he discovers the wonderful form of Donna standing over him, her eyes wide with amazement, a very broad and cruel smile igniting her beautiful face.
Despite the strict demand that he avoid her eyes, he finds himself looking up at Donna with a mixture of sex-hunger and utter humiliation. He feels his china-doll face burn with embarrassment, but knows the thick, pale face-paint will easily hide the wave of crimson spreading across his sissy cheeks.
‘Who’s a pretty little baby, then?’ Donna suddenly purrs, her voice filled with the exaggerated tones of classic baby talk.
Chris squeals into his dummy gag and shakes his head angrily. Donna bursts out laughing and then, to his utter horror, she holds up a very large plastic baby’s bottle filled with a thick white liquid and topped with a huge rubber teat.
She unlocks the playpen and steps inside. She is dressed in a very tight black nylon sweater, a very short black leather skirt, black hose, and high-heeled, black patent leather court shoes. Her hair is loose, flooding over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, and her lovely blue eyes shine with cruel amusement and a barely disguised sexual excitement.
As she kneels down before him, her skirt rides up her thighs to reveal flower-patterned stocking-tops and red satin suspenders, a revelation that brings even more squeals from Chris.
Her smile widening even further, her powerful sandal-wood perfume teasing his baby girl nostrils, she then torments him further with an incomprehensible litany of baby talk, tickling his dimpled, bowed chin with her free hand and waving the bottle before him threateningly with the other.
Yet even as she so knowingly humiliates him, how terribly, how fundamentally he wants her. As his cock strains harder against its painful metal tyrant, his desire for this beautiful woman pours like a stream of molten lava over his sissified body.
His eyes fall on her splendid, tightly restrained breasts as she leans forwards to untie the bow holding the bonnet in place, her skirt crawling further up her legs as she does so to provide a wicked glimpse of red silk panties.
She carefully removes the bonnet and places it at her side, then frees the bow holding the dummy gag in place. As she pulls the dummy from his painted mouth, he tries to declare the force of his continuing desire and the reality of his love, but no sooner is his mouth free than the fat teat of the plastic bottle has been forced between his lips.
‘Drink up.’ She laughs. ‘I want you to take all of it, Chrissie, every last drop.’
Almost involuntarily he finds himself sucking on the teat and beginning to drink what tastes like warm, sugared milk laced with cinnamon. And as he does so, her free hand slips beneath Chris’s wide, short skirt and disappears into the mass of frou-frou petticoating. As her hands seek out the thick plastic panties he splutters into the teat and tries to spit it from his mouth. Donna’s response is to push the bottle even more firmly against his lips and press her free hand deep into the panties, thus bringing even more uncomfortable pressure to bear on his restrained, nappied sex.
‘Hope you like the restrainer and the plug,’ she says, her soft voice filled with a paradoxical love. ‘I know it hurts, but I want you to prove yourself, Chrissie. I want you to suffer for me. There’ll be no release for at least another week. You’ll be in agony most of the time – unable to come. And all the time surrounded by sexy, kinky women determined to ensure you’re permanently turned on. And there’ll be nothing you can do about it, because you’ll be all babified and tied up. But I know you, I know you’ll really love every second of it. The more we dominate and humiliate you, the more you want to serve, to do anything we tell you. Isn’t that true?’
He can only nod furiously between gasps as he sucks up the last of the milk, now violently aroused and in some considerable pain.
Satisfied that he has consumed all the milk, she pulls the teat from his lips and takes up the dummy gag.
‘I love you,’ he whispers, as she prepares to fix the gag back into his mouth.
She hesitates and then kisses him, a long, warm, passionate kiss, which he returns with a helpless desperation. Then she pulls her mouth away and quickly repositions the dummy gag, his submission absolute, his adoration total, as she ties it tightly in place. She then coyly pulls her skirt down over her black stockinged thighs, smiles gently at him and gets to her feet. His wide eyes never leave her fantastic body and he moans angrily as she turns her back on him, then steps out of the playpen. As she reaches the door, she turns, her smile slighter sadder now.
‘I’m missing you terribly, Chrissie. But if you really behave yourself, if you show us what a good little baby you can be – well, there’ll be a really special treat for you at the end of the week.’
Then she leaves and tears of frustration, of hopeless, crushed longing well up in his pretty eyes. Yet even as the first tear is trickling down his porcelain cheeks, the tall, regal, cruel Anne enters the room. Dressed in a very short black and white check skirt, a semi-transparent white silk blouse, very sheer black hose and relatively low-heeled court shoes, she strides over to him, laughing loudly, her piercing green eyes filled with a mocking contempt.
‘Oh, yes,’ she says, ‘this is so you, Chrissie. The perfect sissy baby she-male. Some men would pay thousands for this. You should thank your lucky stars.’
She steps into the pen and, like Donna, kneels down beside him. Yet there is no sexual tension in this encounter. Chris has learned to fear Anne and as she produces a second large baby’s bottle filled the same, thick creamy milk, a sense of true dread and fear washes over him.
‘We should keep you like this permanently,’ she snaps, untying the dummy gag, pulling it roughly from his mouth, then stuffing the teat of the bottle into his far from willing mouth. ‘Drink it all, babikins, otherwise I’ll personally thrash that soft sissy arse of yours until it bleeds.’
Poor Chris can only obey instantly, filling his mouth once again with the sweet, cinnamon-flavoured milk.
‘You really are a pretty little thing,’ Anne continues, as he tries to drink the milk without staring at her large breasts and the clearly visible lace-edged bra that imprisons them. ‘And seeing you so sweetly attired and secured has definitely given me some very interesting ideas.’
She hesitates, her mind turning over, her eyes momentarily glazed as she considers a wicked scheme.
‘How would you like to be a baby model, Chrissie?’ she then asks. ‘There are loads of internet sites where men who like dressing up as babies post pictures of themselves and their sad friends. Most of them look utterly ridiculous. But you – Well, you’re on a completely different level. I think there’d be a lot of fellow perverts who’d pay good money to look at pictures of pretty Chrissie all babified and tethered. Yes, your own website, full of photos of sweet Chrissie in baby bondage. Better still, full of photos of Chrissie tied up in all her lovely clothes. Sounds good, doesn’t it?’
Sucking desperately, now feeling quite sick, Chris can only nod wearily, Anne’s plan filling him with utter horror.
By the time he has managed to empty the bottle and the dummy gag has been tightly resecured, Anne has set out her initial thoughts on a kinky personal website dedicated to the gorgeous she-male Christina, a website with a decidedly sadomasochistic edge featuring page after page of pictures of Christina intricately feminised, tightly bound and inescapably gagged; Christina as Baby Chrissie, Christina as maidservant, Christina as office girl in bondage, Christina as nurse in bondage, Christina at the feet of her shark-eyed mistresses. And as Anne enthusiastically details her plans, Chris’s horror fades, to be replaced by a strange, disturbed excitement, as if to be exposed in this manner, to be revealed as a transvestite sadomasochist via the vast electronic arena of the internet, is to be delivered into a new realm of perverse delights.
By the time Anne slinks out of the room, his mind is reeling from the prospects of becoming an internet bondage model, and he is still in a state of some mental distress when Helen returns, kneels down at his side and produces a third bottle of warm, thick milk. Of course there is absolutely no question of him refusing the bottle and the unfortunate she-male is soon sucking reluctantly on the fat teat, his eyes pinned helplessly to her ample bosom.
‘I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself, Chrissie,’ she teases. ‘But not too much: I wouldn’t want you to damage that poor little penis. But I must say, you do take to the bottle very naturally. Anne no doubt told you she wanted you to be kept in nappies permanently. I’m afraid I couldn’t agree to that. But I’m sure they’ll always be there as a very necessary disciplinary tool, although I don’t really see Anne as the maternal type. I think Donna will make you a much better mummy.’
It takes him some time to drain the third bottle and, by the time he has reached the last few drops, Anne and Donna have returned.
‘Right,’ Helen announces, removing the teat. ‘It’s way past your bed time, so let’s get you tucked in.’
The dummy gag is quickly replaced and then the cording securing the hog-tie is released. Assisted by Donna, Helen then helps the dazed, giddy and somewhat nauseous she-male to his feet. His hosed legs are by now as stiff as wooden planks and only a few wayward shuffles up and down the room can bring them back to life. And once he is able to walk freely, he is led over to the large, barred cot. As Helen unlocks a side panel and pulls it down, Anne carefully repositions the lovely bonnet on his wigged head and ties it in place with another fat bow. Poor Chris is then helped into the cot by Donna and made to lay flat out on his back on a pink rubber mattress that is the only item of actual bedding in the cot. It is only as he lies down that he notices the leather shackles fixed into the frame of the cot, a set at the level of his waist and a set where his bootied feet are now resting. And as Helen teasingly straightens his pretty, sexy baby clothes, Anne and Donna secure her mittened hands and bootied feet in the heavy shackles, thus ensuring that the she-male is held firmly on his back for the rest of the night.
Satisfied that he is tied tightly in place, Helen then pulls up and locks the side panel. Because of the bonnet, Chris can only see directly above him and he soon finds himself staring up as if from the bottom of a well at the beaming faces of his lovely three mistresses.
‘What a lovely sight,’ Anne teases. ‘It’d be a crime not to share her with the world.’
Helen and Donna laugh and Chris finds it very difficult not to release a moan of deeply masochistic pleasure.
The three women then take turns in placing long, wet kisses on Chris’s marble forehead and wishing him a suitably excited night. Then they disappear from view and within seconds he is plunged into darkness again, the sound of the bedroom door closing and locking a simple announcement of the coming night of immobile, helpless baby bondage that awaits him.
As he ponders the utterly bizarre events of the last few hours, his sense of sexual excitement seems to increase rather than diminish and he is soon deeply frustrated and, thanks to the restrainer, far too uncomfortable to sleep. The urge to masturbate, an urge always unthinkingly surrendered to in his own bed, is now almost unbearable, and soon new tears of agonised frustration and pain are filling his eyes. Yet even as he strains against the shackles and imagines Donna’s soft, elegant hands caressing his sissified body, a new urge is making itself known: the urge to urinate, an urge which quickly moves from a vaguely uncomfortable need to a painful demand, an urge he soon finds himself battling with desperately in the pitch blackness, an urge that brings fresh tears to his sissy eyes and to which, eventually, he surrenders. The humiliation of flooding his thick nappy with what feels like a gallon of warm urine is indescribable. Surely, this is the last nail in the coffin containing what is left of his masculinity. But even as tears of despair and embarrassment pour down his cheeks, the sense of relief and the physical relaxation the urination brings, together with the exhaustion induced by the struggle, lull him towards a deep, dreamless sleep, a sleep that leads like the dead straight seam of a sheer, black silk stocking towards a distinctly feminine future.
The next morning he is woken by Helen and released from the cot, only to be immediately stripped down to his now very heavy nappy. Once his gorgeous mistress discovers that he has wet himself, she drags him over to the bed, hauls off the offending nappy and carefully dries him with a towel, all the while scolding him angrily for this lack of restraint. And no sooner is the poor sissy dried than Helen administers twelve very hard slaps to his bare bottom, producing a symphony of tightly dummy-gagged squeals and a two deep crimson buttocks. Sobbing in pain, yet knowing that the final effect will be pure pleasure, he is then led to the bathroom. To his relief, the terrible cock-ring is removed, as is the stocking beneath, and, watched carefully by Helen, he is allowed to thoroughly wash and shave his body. Once dried, powdered and perfumed, he is led back to the bedroom and then turned back into baby Chrissie, complete with a fresh black stocking restrainer, a painfully resecured cock-ring and a very fat, scented nappy.
Within the hour, he is back in the playpen, bound in the kneeling hog-tie and now secured in a beautiful yellow version of the darling baby dress, complete with matching mittens, booties, stockings and bonnet, moaning into his dummy gag, straining against the cords binding his arms and legs, a beautiful, and intricately made-up sissy awaiting his next bizarre and no doubt very erotic adventure.
His breakfast consists of another large bottle of creamy milk and two baby’s rusks fed to him as he sits bound in the pen by a smiling Helen. To his deep embarrassment, she is now talking to him in the soft, gentle voice of a mother talking to her baby daughter. Yet even as his porcelain painted face burns with unseen humiliation, he cannot help but be excited by this sudden change of personality, particularly as Helen has also dressed in a very tight white nylon sweater which quite deliberately accentuates her large, matronly bosom, a knee-length blue skirt, white tights and low-heeled blue leather court shoes, all of which make her look like a very beautiful and marvellously buxom wet-nurse.
Yet this is only the beginning. After the feeding, he is tightly regagged and left alone for another tormenting, frustrating hour. When Helen does return, it is with Anne and Donna, both of whom spend the next thirty minutes or so teasing their babified charge remorselessly. Anne, dressed in a red silk trouser suit and perilously high heels, towers over him like a satanic messenger, her smile cool and cruel, her emerald eyes filled with cunning and contempt. Donna, however, almost immediately replaces Helen in the pen and begins to torment him with gently mocking baby talk. Dressed in a very short white dress, matching hose and a pair of white court shoes, she too resembles a nurse, and as she leans forwards to kiss his rouged cheeks his eyes are once again allowed to feast on her long, nylon-sheathed thighs and her superb, tightly restrained bosom.
And for the rest of the day, he is at the absolute mercy of these beautiful, dominant and very imaginative women. By mid-morning, they have brought him down into the living room and presented him with a pile of furry toy animals. His arms and legs now freed, but with the dummy gag, the mittens and the bonnet still firmly in place, he is made to play with the toys, his pathetic imitation of a baby girl crawling around the living room bringing peals of sarcastic laughter from the women. Yet even this tiring, savagely embarrassing torment is intensely exciting, and as the day progresses, and each new humiliation is introduced, he finds himself more and more aroused, lost deep inside a vast maze of masochistic desire that seems to have no exit point.
It becomes clear early on that Donna, despite being sexually unavailable, will play a very significant role in the week of babification. It is she who, after the initial humiliation of the furry animals, leads him to the kitchen and secures him inside a large, adult-sized high-chair. And it is she who removes the dummy gag and teasingly feeds him a meal of baby food, another bottle of milk and another rusk, all the while whispering sweet baby nothings in his ear and ensuring that his excited eyes are kept busy with the wondrous spectacle of her beautiful breasts.
‘Did baby enjoying her din dins?’ Donna asks, her hands now resting on Chris’s yellow stockinged knees.
Poor Chris can only nod and moan as Donna suddenly moves her hands up his legs and beneath the thick frou-frou petticoating attached to the short skirt of the dress. Soon they are once again teasing the noisy fabric of the plastic panties and pressing deep into the nappy beneath.
‘Baby must be getting very horny by now, what with all these sexy undies and the lovely stockings. I bet your poor willie is suffering quite badly.’
Eventually, she removes him from the chair and takes him back into the living room, where he spends another uncomfortable hour being forced to play with a collection of Barbie dolls and a surprisingly ornate doll’s house.
By mid-afternoon, the women’s enthusiasm for these teasing games has waned and Helen returns the beautifully babified sissy to the nursery for his ‘afternoon nap’. However, as soon as they reach the room, Helen shuts and locks the door and leads him over to the bed rather than the cot. As he shuffles along behind her, his eyes pinned desperately to the backs of her shapely, delicately hosed legs, he wonders what new, wicked torment she has in store for him.
She sits down on the bed and then orders him to stand before her with his arms behind his back. He sweetly curtseys his understanding and obeys. She then tells him to lean forwards and, very carefully, she removes the bonnet and the dummy gag.
‘I think you need to relax a little before I put you to bed, Chrissie. So I’m going to allow you to suckle me for a few minutes. Now I want you to lie on the bed and put your head in my lap.’
Disturbed by the slightly obscure reference to ‘suckling’, Chris curtseys and climbs up onto the bed, a difficult undertaking given the constantly restrictive presence of the mini-corset, the slippery nature of the dress, mittens and booties. But, determined to obey his mistress, he soon finds himself on his back and carefully lowering his head into her soft lap. Once appropriately settled, he finds himself staring up at Helen’s spectacular bosom, two sensual mountains straining against the material of the very tight white nylon sweater. He moans pathetically and pushes his thighs tightly together, thus forcing the plug to press deeper into his arse.
Yet this initially, highly erotic positioning is nothing compared with what follows. For as Chris stares up at Helen’s generous bosom, the beautiful, plump brunette suddenly edges the bottom of the sweater out of her skirt and begins to pull it up over her torso, revealing as she does so a large, very pretty white silk bra filled to bursting point with her incredible pale rose breasts, their very long and stiff nipples clearly visible through each smooth cup of the bra.
Chris squeals with a brutally frustrated pleasure as Helen places the sweater on the bed and then slips her arms behind her back and begins to unhook the bra. His poor eyes nearly pop out of his sissified head as she slips out of the slender cream shoulder-straps and allows the large cups to slip free of her breasts to reveal the two magnificent orbs in all their considerable glory. She then discards the bra and takes Chris’s sissy head in her hands.
‘There, there, babikins,’ she purrs, her beautiful eyes now fixed on his. ‘There’s no need to worry: Mummy’s here.’
As his head is guided towards her left breast, tears of pain and desire well up in his girlish eyes, the cock-ring now biting into his straining, furious sex. And as he slips his lips over her rock-hard nipples, as his mouth brushes against the soft, warm flesh of this holy fruit, his feet wiggling helplessly, he is filled with an almost holy sense of joy. He is a feminised priest worshipping his deity with absolute devotion.
He sucks hungrily on her teat. At one point he accidentally nibbles at her breast, but the loud moan she subsequently emits is one of pleasure rather than pain, and she quietly encourages Chris to continue. Soon, she is moaning continually and demanding he transfer his very effective oral ministrations to the other breast. After five more minutes, a powerful shudder runs through Helen’s body and a cry of pleasure explodes from her wide, sensual mouth. Her orgasm is a terrible reminder of the pleasure he is denied, yet even as she comes violently he continues to suck desperately on her large, silken bosom.
Eventually, Helen gently detaches the sexy sissy slave from her breast and orders him to get up from the bed. As he does so, she slips back into the bra. He faces her in a state of shock, his eyes cast modestly down at her shoes.
‘You seem to have a lot of erotic talents, Chrissie. I will expect you to suckle me regularly.’
He eagerly curtseys and her smile widens.
‘Now, as a special reward, I think you should be very tightly bound and gagged. Would you like that?’
Another deep sissy curtsey makes it very clear that he would and she orders him to shuffle over to the cot. As he does so, his heart beating with masochistic anticipation, Helen slips back into the sweater then glides over to the dressing table. From within one of its drawers, she takes a familiar roll of silver masking tape. From another drawer she takes a pile of black stockings.
‘Kneel down,’ she says, her eyes still quite glazed by the pleasure of Chris’s expert suckling.
He curtseys and then carefully kneels down beside the cot. She walks up to him and drops the stockings and tape at his side, leaving his face inches from her blue skirt.
‘I’m rather wet now, Chrissie, so I’ll have to change my panties and tights,’ she purrs, ‘but it seems such a shame to put them in the wash when you’re here to appreciate all their secret aromas.’
His eyes wide, his cock struggling angrily against the evil metal rings, he watches in an agony of frustrated desire and amazement as she then proceeds to unzip her skirt and let it fall to the floor before him. Her long, strong, yet still very shapely legs, so elegant and sensually sheathed in the sheer white nylon, are revealed to him in all their statuesque glory, as is a very large damp patch around her panties and the powerful, arousing aroma of her sex.
As she slowly teases her legs out of the tights, poor Chris moans with a new desperation. Yet even this is merely an overture; for as soon as the tights have joined the skirt, Chris finds himself facing head-on Helen’s soaking, white silk panties, panties that the splendid dominatrix then proceeds to pull slowly down her smooth, muscular legs, revealing a thick sex-forest covered in the golden honey of her come. Chris moans wildly as she lets the panties fall to her knees and then presses his face into her sex.
‘It’s a pity there isn’t more time for you to use that gifted sissy mouth of yours,’ she whispers, rubbing her flooded pubic hair against his marble chin.
Then she steps back, leaving him gasping with almost deranged hunger. Now completely naked from the waist down, she steps out of the panties, picks them up and presses them into his face. The smell of her, the powerful, sweet perfume, is a brutal aphrodisiac that inspires another loud moan. She then insists he open his mouth as wide as possible, rolls up the panties and rams them home. He gasps as his mouth is completely filled with her most intimate garment and the scents and tastes of her flood once again deep into his consciousness. And no sooner have the panties been forced into place than she has taken up the roll of masking tape, tears off a long, thick strip and spread it firmly over his sissy lips, thus trapping the panties deep inside his mouth. Then, to his surprise, she carefully removes the gorgeous blonde wig and places it at her feet, taking up the tights as she does so and beginning to roll one of the legs into a wide open bowl. He watches in confused fascination as she then proceeds to reverse the bowl, place it on his head, and then begin to pull the widened leg down over his face. Soon, thanks to her considerable strength and skill, he is literally enveloped in hose! His face is pushed flat against the tight nylon and breathing becomes very difficult. A sense of panic overwhelms him as Helen then carefully positions the hose mask so that the soaked gusset section is directly over his nose and taped mouth and the free leg is dangling from the front of his face like a weird nylon trunk! Once she has done this, she takes the free leg and tightly wraps it around his eyes and uses another, longer strip of the masking tape to hold it in place, spreading the tape from ear to ear and thus also across his eyes. He is blindfolded, deafened and gagged. His only remaining unrestricted senses are touch and smell, yet even these are severely limited by the mittens and the pungent hose gusset stretched so tightly over his squashed nostrils.
Sealed in a sex-soaked sensory deprivation chamber of hose and feminine frillies, his breathing now hard but eventually even and regular, he is helped to his bootied feet. In an utter sex-perfumed darkness, all sounds muffled to the point of incomprehension, he is helped into the cot and made to lay face down on the rubber mattress. His arms are then forced behind his back and tied tightly together with two of the stockings at his mittened wrists and elbows. His hosed ankles and knees are likewise bound with more stockings. Then another stocking is tied to the stocking binding his ankles and used to pull his ankles upward towards his tethered wrists. Very soon he has been pulled into an extremely severe hog tie and his ankles and wrists have bound tightly together.
It is in this uncomfortable, pinioned, utterly helpless state that he is left. He feels Helen’s hands stroke his hosed cheeks and moans helplessly and fearfully. But then there is nothing. He cannot move, speak, see, feel or hear. He is lost in a terrible, absolute numbness where all he can contemplate is the intense, powerful smell of his mistress and the memory of his mouth suckling her large, warm breasts. And in the centre of this bizarre ordeal is the most profound pleasure, the most delicious sense of all-pervasive helplessness. The plug tickles his widening anus, the cock-ring tortures his stiff sex; he cries with pleasure into the fat panty gag, and all he can hear is the sound of his sissy heart pounding with masochistic ecstasy.
* * *
He has no idea how long he is kept in this divine, fetishistic state of imprisonment. Maybe an hour, maybe two. He quickly loses track of time and space and finds himself falling into a bottomless pit of pure sensation and molten desire. How desperately he now wants, indeed needs to serve his three glorious mistresses; how desperately he wants to submit to all their inventive, wicked humiliations. He is nothing without this and the burning femininity that is now flowing over his psyche like a river of flames.
By the time he feels hands exploring his tethered body, he is numb in both mind and body and desiring only more of this absolute servitude. Gradually, his intricate bonds are freed and he returns to the mysterious reality of Helen’s beautiful home. And eventually, the hose mask is carefully removed and he is allowed to see the flat, sweat-soaked surface of the cot’s pink rubber mattress.
‘Just relax, Chrissie; let me get you out of all these stockings. Helen’s got a bit of a thing about tying you up.’
Donna’s voice inspires a sense of deep relief and a renewed excitement. He moans thankfully into the tight panty- and tape-gag and lies still while she slowly struggles to free him from Helen’s kinky handiwork.
Eventually, all the stockings have been removed. Donna turns him over and helps him sit up. As life returns to his body, she peels off the tape-gag and then eases the fat, pungent panty-gag from his tormented mouth. It is only as she does this that he notices she has removed the white dress and now stands before him in a white leather basque, white stockings and the high-heeled shoes. His eyes widen and she laughs.
‘Helen warned me you might be a bit sweaty, so I slipped out of the dress – just in case.’
He finds her explanation slightly odd, but doesn’t really care: the sight of this beautiful woman, this gorgeous muse who has entered his life and so lovingly taken his virginity, who has proven his masculinity in the very act of ensuring his sweet, silken slavery as a she-male maidservant, fills him with an intense, almost overwhelming joy and a fierce sexual arousal. Yet this arousal has its own unique consequences, and he is soon wincing as the restrainer bites mercilessly into his hardening, restrained sex.
‘Don’t get too carried away, Chrissie – you know what’ll happen.’
But her words can have no real effect: his desire, his brutal masochistic need, has complete control over his every thought now, and it is a need these glorious women are manipulating with a terrifying ease.
She unlocks the barred side of the cot and helps Chris step down onto the carpeted floor. He is then led from the impromptu nursery into the bathroom and made to strip down to the cruel restrainer, her smile widening as each item of sissy attire is slowly removed, his poor, tormented eyes never leaving Donna’s splendid, ultra-sexy form.
Once he is standing naked before his most beloved mistress, she steps forwards and looks deep into his eyes.
‘I’m going to remove the restrainer, Chrissie. Then I’m going to remove the stocking. And then I’m going to bathe you. This will be the sternest test of your love for me. You have to prove that you really do love me. It will be simple yet also very hard to do this. All you have to do is avoid coming. Do you think you can manage that?’
He looks at her with desire-stricken eyes, then performs the weakest of curtseys. She smiles and then slips her long, elegant hands over the cock-ring. He moans as she opens the two rings and pulls the device from his long-tormented sex.
An even bigger moan follows the slow, teasing removal of the stocking and the full revelation of his sex, so fully, brutally erect, and so very desperate. Then, to his horror, she runs a teasing finger along its enflamed shaft.
‘Only a week, Chrissie, then I’ll show you what real pleasure is.’
As he gasps his appalling frustration, she takes him by the hand and leads him into the shower. Then, before his utterly defeated, appalled, sex-starved eyes, she performs a slow, wicked striptease, and within a few dreadful minutes is in the shower with him, her glorious naked form rubbing up against his. She turns the shower tap and they are both immediately covered in a warm sheet of water. She then takes up a scented bar of soap, smiles sweetly and begins to drive him insane.
She covers his body in a thick layer of soap suds, paying particular attention to his cock and balls and quickly producing angry cries of intense frustration and even fear as all the while the threat of an uncontrollable, explosive orgasm hangs over his pretty, sissy head.
‘Control, Chrissie; restraint. Remember what Helen said.’
Tears fill his eyes as she then proceeds to explore his back passage with a soapy finger, seeking out the plug and pushing it in a little deeper.
‘You like the plug, don’t you, Chrissie?’
He moans his assent and she laughs gently.
‘Next week, I’ll use a full-size dildo for a few nights to widen you a little further. Soon you’ll be able to take a very big, tasty cock.’
He prays, he pleads with all the mysterious forces of the universe. She rubs her warm, soaking breasts against his chest and he imagines the end of the world, the largest fireball ever seen engulfing him in a blinding moment of startling orgasmic fury.
Then, to his relief and despair, she has stepped back from his body and is turning the shower off.
‘You did very well, Chrissie. I’m impressed and touched – you tried really hard for me.’
His eyes glazed, his cock like a rod of white-hot steel, he moans pathetically and feels hot tears of brutal frustration begin to trickle down his scented cheeks.
Once they are out of the shower, Donna carefully dries her adoring slave and herself, at one point wrapping them both in the large white towel and returning Chris to the whirlpool of teasing and frustration Donna seems determined to make his mental home.
Once dried, he is covered from neck to toe in a rose-scented perfume and led back to the nursery. Here, to his surprise, a new outfit has been laid out on the bed – a cherry-red version of the baby girl dress, together with matching red plastic panties, seamed red stockings and an even more spectacular red silk and satin bonnet. Also on the bed is a large, fresh nappy, the white mini-corset and a beautiful white silk pinafore. As he is led up to the edge of the bed, he also notices that on the floor is a very dainty pair of red patent leather Mary Jane shoes.
‘You’ll be required to act as our baby maid this evening, Chrissie, so Helen has provided a suitable costume.’
Staring with utter fascination at this new and very elaborate costume, Chris performs a curtsey of understanding. Then, over the next hour, he is carefully recreated as Baby Chrissie. A fresh black nylon stocking is slipped teasingly over his cock and the terrible rings are snapped painfully back in place. As before, he is dressed in the humiliating baby underwear and then made up in the china doll style. After this, the dress and the lovely pinafore are carefully positioned over his sissy body and he moans with pleasure as the gorgeous Donna secures the pinafore in place at the base of his spine with a very large baby bow.
After the dress and the pinafore, the wig is refitted, as is the large, phallic dummy gag, which she pops between his lovely red lips with a teasing laugh and the loveliest of smiles. The gorgeous red bonnet is trimmed with even more lace than its predecessor and decorated with a pattern of silk roses. Then, satisfied that her charge is suitably transformed, she helps him to step into the square-heeled Mary Janes and buckles them tightly in place.
‘You look absolutely stunning, Chrissie.’
Her words, spoken in a hushed, sex-hardened voice, bring a well-gagged gasp of intense, red-hot need to his stopped lips. Yet even now his fetishistic transformation is not complete; for, as she teases him with words of desire, she returns to the dressing table and produces a pair of red latex rubber gloves. Still smiling gently, she then slips these over his hands.
‘You’ll need these to serve,’ she says, her gorgeous eyes seeking out his, her hands gently securing the pearl buttons built into the sides of the gloves around his thin, girlish wrists.
Then she leads him over to the mirror built into the front of the new wardrobe and once again he is facing an image of startling sissy perfection, a truly perfect vision of utter and deeply erotic submission that sends shudders of profound sexual delight through his feminised body.
‘It’s better than perfection, Chrissie,’ Donna whispers, her hands sliding behind the layers of frou-frou petticoating to caress his red nylon-sheathed thighs.
Soon, he is returned to the living room and his other mistresses. As he curtseys before them, Helen and Anne are clearly very impressed by this latest incarnation of Chrissie and compliment Donna on her make-up and dress skills. Then he is led to the kitchen and returned to the high-chair. A large bib is fitted around his befrilled neck and his hands are tied to the sides of the chair. Donna then slowly feeds him another baby food concoction, a rusk and two full bottles of the creamy milk, all of which he consumes with some desperation, the trials of the afternoon having given him a ferocious appetite. And all the time, Donna teases him with the most delightful and very exciting baby talk, adding to his exquisite sense of utter humiliation and ensuring that his sex remains in a state of almost constant discomfort.
The rest of the evening passes like a surreal hallucination. After his baby meal, he is set to work helping serve dinner to his gorgeous mistresses. Most bizarrely, Donna never bothers to slip back into the dress and spends the whole evening in her sexy underwear. Poor Chris can subsequently hardly keep his eyes off her and receives a number of very hard slaps to his stockinged thighs from both Anne and Helen to ensure his continued attention to his maidservant tasks.
At the end of the evening, he is made to kneel once again before his seated mistresses in the living room and demonstrate his considerable oral skills. For an entire hour he eagerly inspires orgasm after orgasm and, by the time the living room clock strikes 11.00 p.m., he is covered in their intimate juices and they are all very obviously exhausted.
It is left to Donna to return him to his cot, still fully dressed in the red baby maid’s outfit. Once he is secured in place, she gently kisses him on the forehead and bids him sweet dreams. He stares up at her, his sissy eyes filled with appalling desperation as her splendid breasts, so tightly restrained by the basque, stare back down at him.
With a brief, slightly sad smile, she then leaves and he is soon once again plunged into darkness. His first day as Baby Chrissie is over and, as he quickly drops, utterly exhausted, into a very deep sleep, he is already looking forward to the trials and humiliations of the next day.
* * *
The rest of the week passes like the strangest, kinkiest and thus, for Chris, most erotic dream imaginable. From the Sunday of this babified week, it becomes clear that he will be required to work as well as entertain his three lovely mistresses. On the Sunday morning, he finds himself in another version of the pretty sissy baby maid’s dress, this time an elaborate powder-blue version, complete with matching stockings, plastic panties, and Mary Janes. Tightly sealed in a matching bonnet, dummy-gagged, his hands freed from the mittens (but still wrapped in matching latex gloves), his dress protected by another beautiful white silk pinafore, he spends the day cleaning, ironing, washing and helping Helen cook. From the first moment of his early morning transformation to the moment when he presents himself fearfully before his mistresses after completing the post-dinner washing up, there is nothing but surprisingly hard work and strict instruction in the methods of this work from Helen, Donna and Anne.
By midday, his poor thighs and bottom are stinging from the relentless round of spankings his failings inspire, yet there is no bondage therapy and, despite Helen’s promise, no breast-feeding. Indeed, the general tone of the women seems to have changed considerably and even Donna treats him with a painful indifference and administers the hardest of the spankings when he fails to follow her instructions to the letter.
Yet despite this, he once again shows that he is a gifted domestic and, with the experience of the previous two weeks behind him, is able to complete most of the tasks he is ordered to carry out.
After providing oral relief to his mistresses, he is taken upstairs by Helen and put back into the cot, quite exhausted, yet still in a state of deep, highly masochistic excitement. As she straps him tightly into the cot, he looks up at her splendid bosom and remembers the joy of suckling each large, soft breast. He moans expectantly into his fat dummy gag, yet she ignores him, and soon he is plunged back into darkness and, despite his terrible frustrations and resultant discomfort, he quickly drifts into a deep sleep.
Yet, despite the obvious repetition of his babified days, there are still a number of bizarre and highly erotic moments that note further description.
For instance, on the Monday evening, after another day of very demanding domestic labour and strict discipline, Chris finds himself subjected to an elaborate and extended photo shoot. After dinner, he is summoned from the kitchen. Expecting the now nightly pleasure of bringing his three marvellous mistresses to shattering orgasms with his expert sissy tongue, he instead finds himself at the centre of a sissy photo session supervised with some considerable gusto by the beautiful, perverse Anne.
For over an hour, using a state-of-the-art digital camera, she takes photo after photo of her she-male slave in his exquisitely sissy baby attire. The gloves are replaced by the mittens, the Mary Janes by booties. The pinafore is removed. He is bound hand and foot with white stockings, made to stand with his skirt and petticoats pulled up to reveal his matching plastic panties, nappies and stocking-tops. He is put over Helen’s hosed knees, his panties lowered, his nappy removed, and then soundly spanked with a very painful hairbrush. Real tears are captured in the midst of exploding flash-lights; his poor, crimson bottom is immortalised.
This, he knows, is all part of Anne’s plan to turn Baby Chrissie into a web celebrity. Earlier, during dinner, she had told the other women of the progress already made in setting up a ‘Chrissie web site’. He had listened in horror, yet never once hesitated in his maidservant duties. A main part of her plan is to put a selection of photos up on the web page, and this was now quite clearly taking initial shape. Yet, despite the threat of this awfully public exposure, Chris finds himself participating in the shoot with some enthusiasm. Indeed, at one point, when tied with the stockings, he responds with a true method actor’s passion to Anne’s insistence that he show ‘utter humiliation, fear, even sissy anger’ and finds himself squealing angrily into the fat dummy gag and wriggling helplessly in his delightful baby bondage.
The next afternoon, he receives his first ‘deportment and movement’ lesson from the lovely, beloved Donna. After lunch, he is returned to the nursery by Helen and quickly stripped down to the cock-ring and stocking restrainer. The wig and dummy gag are removed and he is showered and rescented. He is then returned to the nursery and presented with a very sexy, very sheer pink nylon leotard and a pair of exactly matching dance tights. As he excitedly slips into this soft, teasing attire, Helen, a very wide smile on her gorgeous, dark-featured face, produces two more large pink boxes and places them on the small single bed. From inside the largest box, she takes a billowing pink lace tutu and quickly fits it around his waist. From the second box, she takes a pair of pink silk ballet slippers which, following her instructions, he proceeds to slip into.
He is then forced to sit down before the dressing table mirror and Helen carefully styles his short hair with a hairbrush before making up his face with a mild tan foundation, pale-blue eye-shadow and a pink lipstick. A layer of very strong, musk perfume is then sprayed across his body and this delightful, mincing she-male ballerina is led back down the corridor and into a room he has never seen before. The room, obviously once one of the many bedrooms, has been emptied of all furniture except a leather-backed chair. There is no carpet, but rather highly polished floor boards, and across one entire wall is a large rectangular mirror, running along which is a thin wooden beam.
Helen leaves Chris facing his reflection, insisting that he keep his hands behind his back and that he stands at a rigid attention. He obeys, of course, and spends ten uncomfortable minutes staring at his feminised sissy reflection, noticing that his restrained, tormented erection is made quite blatantly clear by the tight leotard and finding this exposure strangely exciting. And it is as he contemplates his bulging sex that Donna enters the room. Donna, dressed in a black leotard, matching nylon tights and ballet slippers, the tight second skin of the dance costume revealing her splendid, generous figure in all its deeply erotic glory.
He turns to face her and curtseys. She smiles. She is carrying a small portable CD player, which she then places on the chair.
‘If you’re going to become a convincing she-male, we need to make sure you can move in an appropriately feminine manner,’ she says, her eyes never leaving his tortured, exposed sex. ‘So each afternoon for the next five days, I’m going to help you learn how to move properly. We’ll start with simple dance instruction. Some basic ballet steps and moves, practised daily, will give you grace and confidence. Then we’ll move onto walking, walking in heels and then general deportment.’
He curtseys his understanding, trying to avoid staring with savage desire at her beautiful, so expertly displayed body.
In their sexy costumes, they spend the next ninety minutes practising a series of basic ballet moves to the music of Debussy and Mozart. To his surprise, he finds the dainty, ultra-feminine movements that Donna demands he perform relatively simple. Indeed, by the end of this very arousing session, he is able to carry out most of the steps and other movements very effectively, and certainly well enough to earn Donna’s praise and her teasing, infuriating caresses.
‘Helen’s right about you being a natural,’ she purrs at the end of the session, her hot hands slipping beneath the tutu and gliding over the nylon-sheathed outline of his rigid, imprisoned sex. He moans angrily and she turns a vague brush into a tortuous caress. His moan becomes a cry halfway between agony and ecstasy.
‘But you’re so noisy! Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you’re gagged – with a pair of my panties, of course. Not that this’ll be a punishment for you.’
She then kisses him on the forehead and leads him back to the nursery. By 4.00 p.m., he is fully babified once again and serving afternoon tea to his mistresses, demonstrating his new feminine agility in each submissive, sissy movement. And it is during this exhibition of his new sissy skills that Anne announces that she has already managed to get the ‘Baby Chrissie’ website up and running and that the digital pictures snapped the day before have already been posted on the site.
‘I’ve linked it to an adult baby web ring and we’re already getting loads of hits. I’m sure Chrissie will be very popular with all her fellow sissies in no time at all. Perhaps we have a superstar in the making.’
The women laugh and Chris tries not to show his concern, mincing from mistress to mistress with a silver plate of biscuits, today’s gorgeous baby dress, cream-coloured, protected by the standard and very lovely silk and lace pinafore.
‘I wonder if he already has any sissy friends,’ Helen asks. ‘Do you have any secret sissy friends, Chrissie?’
It has been nearly a month since he last communicated with Annette. Indeed, he has not been near his computer since his enslavement by these three beauties. However, he performs an affirmative curtsey and Helen’s smile broadens.
‘Really,’ she says, her mind clearly pondering a potential new line of sissy development. ‘Do you have a particularly special sissy friend?’
Another wary curtsey follows.
‘Well, I think it’s only fair we get to meet this friend, don’t you?’
A much slower curtsey greets this question.
‘You don’t seem too enthusiastic, Chrissie. We expect a bit more commitment than that!’
Chris duly performs a much deeper curtsey, making sure to expose his lovely cream plastic panties completely for his mistress.
‘I think she’s getting a little complacent,’ Anne suddenly snaps.
‘Yes, maybe she needs a lesson to liven her up,’ Helen replies, her lovely brown eyes now filled with the familiar flame of sadistic cunning.
‘I suggest we give the silly little girl an enema. That should lighten her step a little.’
Anne’s words, delivered with a dark, cruel humour, strike into Chris’s poor sissy heart like a hot knife.
‘A good idea. Donna, if you wouldn’t mind taking her to the nursery and we’ll follow on shortly. If you could prepare the enema equipment as well, I’d be very grateful.’
Donna smiles, takes a long, knowing look at Chris and snaps a confident, ‘No problem,’ before getting up and leading her now wide-eyed sissy slave from the room.
As he minces along behind his gorgeous, sexy mistress, the thought of the impending enema fills the pretty, babified she-male with utter horror. After the deportment lesson, Donna has, as usual, dressed to thrill, and now, his mind reeling with fearful anticipation, he finds himself staring with paradoxically desiring eyes at her long, black hosed legs, revealed expertly by a red leather mini-skirt and red, patent leather stilettos. As she quite deliberately wiggles her pert, sexy bottom in his china doll face, he moans fearfully into the fat dummy gag and tries to prevent large tears welling up in his sissy eyes.
‘Don’t worry, babikins,’ Donna teases. ‘It really isn’t that bad. And it’ll make you feel much better later.’
As she turns to face him, despite his fear, his eyes fix onto her shapely breasts pressing against the skin-tight nylon cocoon of her sweater. The terrible dialectic of pain and pleasure is surely never-ending.
Once in the bedroom, he is made to stand to attention by the cot as Donna proceeds to reveal some of the hidden delights of the nursery.
From beneath the bed, she takes a large black rubber mat that has been rolled into a tight tube. She places this in the centre of the room. She then tells Chris to strip naked. As he obeys, she returns to the space beneath the bed, this time producing a long silver bar with a thick black leather shackle attached to each end. She places this on the rubber mat and then strolls over to the rows of shelves built into the wall beyond the bed. As he struggles out of his cream stockings and matching plastic panties, he watches with increasing unease as Donna takes a long length of pink rubber tubing and a very large pink rubber bag from one of the shelves. She places these on the bed and then minces over to the wardrobe. From inside she takes a strange metal tripod base set on casters and places it down by her high-heeled feet. Then she produces a strangely shaped metal pole with what seems to be a large metal peg set into the top. She slots the pole into the tripod and then wheels the completed device over to the rubber mat.
By this time, poor Chris is naked except for the appalling cock-ring and its black nylon stocking partner, his tormented erection still strong and protesting painfully against the wicked metal prison.
Donna then removes his bonnet, dummy gag and wig and straightens his own hair with a comb.
‘Would you like a panty-gag, Chrissie?’ she asks, her lovely eyes filled with teasing arousal.
He eagerly curtseys an affirmation and Donna’s smile widens.
‘I’d love to put my panties in that lovely mouth but, as this is a punishment enema, I’m afraid we have to use a special ball gag.’
He is then forced to watch as she returns to the shelves and takes from one of them a very large pink rubber ball attached to two lengths of thick white leather. Yet before she returns, she dips the ball into a bowl of clear liquid resting on a lower shelf. She then brings the gag over to Chris and tells him to open his mouth as wide as possible.
As she forces the gag home he is immediately aware that the liquid is salt water. Indeed, the gag is covered in glistening salt crystals and this, plus the vast, mouth-filling size of the gag, makes for an extremely unpleasant experience, an experience significantly worsened as Donna buckles the gag tightly in place at the back of his slender neck.
Squealing in discomfort, he watches angrily as Donna proceeds to take two lengths of the now familiar black rubber cording from the shelves and use them to bind his arms very tightly behind his back at the wrists and, most painfully, at his elbows.
‘There’s no point in complaining, babikins,’ she teases, tying the knot that forces his elbows to touch. ‘You’ve been a naughty little sissy and it’s been made clear we’re determined to punish any sign of laziness.’
She then kneels down before her bound and gagged slave and takes up the strange metal bar.
‘A leg-spreader,’ she explains, attaching the left shackle around his girlish ankle and buckling it tightly in place. ‘So spread your legs.’
With his arms bound so tightly, this is particularly difficult, but he eventually manages to stretch his legs far enough to allow Donna to fit the bar between his legs and attach the right shackle to his right ankle. Poor Chris thus finds himself with his legs forced wide and irresistibly apart, his balance precarious, a sense of terrible vulnerability gripping every inch of his tethered body. Yet this is very much only the beginning.
As soon as the leg-spreader is in place, Donna climbs to her lovely, high-heeled feet, smiles teasingly at Chris and returns to the shelves. Fighting to maintain his balance, he watches as she takes a coiled length of thin, silver chain from one of the shelves and brings it back over to him.
‘This fixes your wrists to that,’ she says, pointing to the ceiling.
He follows her gaze painfully upwards and grunts fearfully into the gag as he notices that a large metal ring has been fixed into the ceiling immediately above Donna’s head. She makes a point of showing him that one end of the chain has a clip hook which is designed to slot into the ring, and that the other end is another length of the rubber cording.
As she ties the rubber-corded end of the chain to the cording binding his wrists, he hears distinctive and familiar laughter and turns to behold Anne and Helen standing in the doorway to the nursery. This in itself is unsurprising, but what is totally shocking is the way they are dressed. To Chris’s amazement, both Anne and Helen have dressed up as nurses! Anne is dressed in a very short white rubber nurse’s uniform, complete with a sexy cap and a large red cross stretched across her shapely bosom. In addition to this, she has donned seamed white nylon stockings and a pair of white patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes. Helen, by contrast, has dressed in a particularly alluring ‘matron’s uniform’, a simple, dark blue cotton dress covering her ample form from her neck down to her knees, over which has been tied a white silk pinafore also decorated with a large red cross at her substantial chest. In addition, she is wearing sheer black hose, black patent leather stilettos and a nurse’s cap.
As the women stroll teasingly over to their tormented, stunned slave, they congratulate Donna on her bondage expertise and then watch with wide, cruel smiles as Donna takes a chair from besides the shelves, brings it over to Chris and then takes up the slack of the long, sinister chain. She climbs onto the chair and pulls the chain up with her, reaching above her head and pulling the metal clip up to the hook. As she does so, poor Chris finds his wrists are pulled upwards and that the rest of his body is pushed downwards. Soon he is bent painfully forwards, his legs and buttocks spread wide, his arms pulled very painfully behind his back. He squeals into the ball gag and tries to pull himself upright, but the pressure between his shoulders is now tremendous, and the only way to relieve it is to stoop even further forwards.
Completely exposed to the cruel view of his wicked mistresses, Chris can only stare pathetically down at his tormented, still painfully stiff sex and wonder in terror what appalling torture awaits him. He listens as Donna steps down from the chair and moves to one side. Then Helen’s beautiful, black-stockinged legs and gleaming stiletto-heeled feet suddenly step into his very restricted field of vision.
‘Well, I think the patient is prepared for her treatment. You may begin, Nurse Anne.’
The first thing he feels is the rubber-gloved fingers slipping deep inside his anus to retrieve the plug, hands he knows belong to the cruel, unyielding Anne. And as the plug is slowly eased free of his backside, Helen describes the terrible truth of the impending ‘operation’.
‘We will start by removing the plug. Your arse will then be lined with a film of special irritant cream. This will no doubt produce a pretty ballet of wiggling and a lot of discomfort. You will then receive ten strokes of the paddle from each of us. After this you will receive the enema. Once the enema has been administered, you will be renappied and left to ponder the reasons we have seen fit to punish you so severely. You will also have to avoid spoiling yourself, a task I think you will find extremely difficult.’
Almost before Helen has stopped describing his terrible fate, fingers are again exploring his backside, but this time probing, caressing fingers that spread a sticky film over the walls of his now helplessly twitching anus.
Poor Chris squeals desperately into the uncomfortable gag as Anne applies another layer of the awful cream. Large tears of terror begin to trickle from his eyes and to drop onto the rubber mat beneath his prone, tormented form. Then he feels the heat, a warmth at first, but then hot, then very hot, then almost burning. And as the heat increases so does the itching, an itching that soon seems to have spread all over his body and which leaves him swinging his head angrily, squealing even louder into the gag and wiggling his tormented and very pretty bottom uncontrollably.
The sound of his mistresses’ cruel laughter fills his tormented head as he dances helplessly before them. The women circle him; they continue to mock his extreme discomfort, then there is a strange, anticipatory silence, the awful silence before the storm, the first devastating sign of which is a sudden, hard blow to his exposed, wiggling buttocks, the furious, stinging slap of a leather-backed paddle administered to his bottom with considerable strength and enthusiasm by one of his mistresses. He has no idea which one, and as the dreadful paddling continues he quickly understands this anonymity is quite deliberate.
Soon the tears of pain are flooding from his eyes, and the wiggles that rumble over his body like earth tremors are wiggles of real pain as well as extreme discomfort. He receives a total of thirty hard, merciless whacks against his backside, each one as forceful as the last, none providing the slightest evidence of reluctance or hesitation. And by the time the paddling is complete, there is a terrible, satanic fire burning across his backside, a fire that spreads inevitably between his legs and into his imprisoned, still painfully stiff sex and quickly transforms into the fuel to power his demanding, unrelenting and deeply masochistic desire.
Then hands fall upon his upper thighs, holding his bottom still while more hands spreads his buttocks even wider apart. He moans in tightly silenced misery as a wet, cool rubber tube is slipped into his anus and then pushed deep inside him. Eventually the tube encounters resistance. His tormenter, however, is quite determined and, with a painful shove, the tube seems to erupt into the very core of his being and he squeals angrily into the huge, mouth-filling ball gag.
This is the most intimate and uncomfortable invasion of his body yet and, as he contemplates the true horror of his situation, the three gorgeous women mock him relentlessly. More tears well up in his baby girl eyes as Anne and Helen circle his prone, naked form. The terrible pain between his shoulders is now a molten metal spreading across his back and burning into the very heart of his twisted spine. Then he hears the sound of liquid being poured, an awful sound, a damning sound that he knows is the filling of the rubber enema bag.
‘Try and keep still, Chrissie,’ Anne teases. ‘It helps the flow into your intestines.’
Then the beautiful, black nylon-sheathed legs of Helen are before him again.
‘We’re using soapy water to clean you out, Chrissie,’ she informs him, her voice filled with cruel amusement. ‘It’ll take a couple of bagfuls, so I suggest patience. Once you’re filled up, we’ll apply a suitably absorbent nappy and leave you to ponder your fate. You should also know that if you fail to withhold the liquid for the hour you will be left alone, you’ll be spending the night bound and gagged under the stairs with an anal vibrator for company.’
Poor Chris squeals useless cries for mercy as he feels the liquid flood into his bowel. The sensation is utterly appalling and is accompanied by a sudden and very violent need to go to the toilet. Yet even after the contents of the first bag have been emptied into him, he is just able to resist this urge and endure the second bag with more pained wiggles and angry squealing.
Then, after some fifteen truly dreadful minutes, the enema tube is slid from his back passage and invisible hands quickly wrap him into a very heavy, very thick nappy and secure it very tightly in place.
‘Have fun, babikins.’
Anne’s voice, followed by the laughter of the three women. Then the light is flicked off, plunging the crying sissy into a very familiar but no less terrifying darkness. The nursery door is then closed and locked.
Almost immediately, the intensity of the discomfort created by the irritant cream seems to increase. Chris’s position is deliberately designed not just to make him easily available for intrusion and spanking, but also to make it very difficult for him to control his already considerably weakened sphincter muscle. So as much as he struggles to restrain the flood of liquid and faeces now demanding release from his bowel, he knows that, sooner rather than later, he will mess his nappy rather spectacularly, and that when he does he is sentencing himself to a very uncomfortable and kinky night locked beneath the stairs. Yet, despite all the torments he has endured in the last few hours, and to his considerable amazement, he still finds himself deeply aroused. The well of his masochism, it seems, is bottomless.
He manages to hold back the tide for maybe fifteen minutes, then, with the sweat of an intense and futile effort soaking his tortured body, he gasps helplessly into his fat, salted gag and unleashes the tidal wave. The sound and the smell are appalling. This is the deepest, darkest humiliation and, as the explosion rages, as the nappy is filled to bursting point, he feels what may well be the destruction of the very last vestige of his masculinity and any sense of self-respect or ego that might have assisted in the defence of that masculinity.
And there he remains, so tightly and painfully secured, enveloped in the stink of his own bodily functions, appallingly uncomfortable, thanks to the twisted symphony of punishments racking his sissy frame: the pain of his bondage, the torment of the salt-lined ball gag, the constant torment of the irritant cream lining his anus and his full, pungent nappy. Here he remains for at least another forty-five minutes in absolute, unforgiving darkness, begging for release, yet, most perversely, most bizarrely, at some deep, weird level, also enjoying every second of this supreme degradation.
By the time the women return, the room stinks to high heaven and their declarations of disgust, while exaggerated, are rooted firmly in a quite genuine response to their slave’s helpless spoiling.
With more loud and mocking cries of outrage, the women free him from the spreader-bar and bonds and unbuckle the gag. He gasps with a profound relief as the ball gag is pulled from his mouth, but has very little time to adjust his aching body; for, as soon as he is free, he is sent to the bathroom to clean himself up and prepare for the next stage of this extended punishment.
* * *
By the time he presents himself before his mistresses half an hour later, the filthy nappy hidden in a special scented plastic bag at the bottom of the bathroom rubbish bin, reshowered and scented, he has no idea what time or what day it is. He is utterly exhausted and finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. Despite this, he is also very much aware that he is starving hungry.
He has been forced to shower with the cock-ring and stocking restrainer still in place but, despite the fact that the stocking is soaked, no notice of it is taken as he is led from the room by the women and returned downstairs to the living room.
Here he discovers new, even more kinky attire awaiting him. Anne and Helen are still dressed in the very sexy nurse’s uniforms and this ensures that Chris remains painfully erect throughout this next bizarre stage of his punishment. Donna plays little part in what happens next, preferring to sit on the sofa with her long, sexy legs crossed and a wide smile lighting up her beautiful face, watching every development intently.
The first item that Anne takes from a strange pile on the coffee table in front of them is a long, pink rubber, ribbed dildo.
‘This will keep you company for the night, babikins. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit, more or less.’
He is then made to bend forwards and touch his toes, the memory of the pain induced by his previous bondage returning as he does so. Anne then forces his legs apart so that a rubber-gloved Helen can spread a film of Vaseline around his anal passage, her long, teasing finger inducing moans of intense pleasure. Her finger is eventually removed and then Anne very carefully eases the dildo into his arse. At first he is terrified that it will not fit and that some terrible damage will be done. But after a few painful pushes, and much to his surprise, his anus suddenly gives way and accepts virtually the whole dildo.
The pleasure of this intrusion is quite considerable and his moan very loud.
‘Told you,’ Anne says to Helen. ‘He’s wide enough already and he loves it. We should explore this, just like you said.’
His contemplation of her mysterious words is interrupted as he is pulled to his feet, forcing his thighs together and pushing the dildo even deeper into his arse. The dildo is followed by another very large nappy, which is secured with another very large silver safety pin. Then Anne uses more lengths of the sleek black-rubber-lined cording to bind his wrists and elbows tightly and painfully behind his back and to tie his ankles and knees together with equally unyielding knots. As Anne secures his knees, Donna steps up from the sofa and rather brazenly rolls up her mini-skirt over her hosed thighs.
‘Use my panties,’ she says, her sex-fuelled gaze never leaving Chris’s wide, stunned eyes.
He continues to watch as she wiggles out of her tights and then pulls her black silk panties down over her long legs. She hands the panties to Anne, who somewhat unceremoniously stuffs them into Chris’s quickly opened mouth. And once they are rammed securely home, Chris revelling once again in the powerful taste of Donna’s sex, Helen takes up the familiar role of silver masking tape from the table, tears off a very long, thick strip and then spreads it firmly over Chris’s now closed, very soft and sissy lips.
Tightly bound and gagged, Chris, now terribly excited, watches as Anne, a particularly wicked smile lighting up her beautiful face, then takes from the table what looks like a long white rubber bag. He continues to watch in amazement as she proceeds to roll the bag up into a wide bowl and then kneel down by Chris’s feet.
‘Step into the body glove,’ she orders.
He obeys without question and then watches in utter astonishment as Anne begins to draw the bag up his smooth, scented body, revealing as she does so that the bag is in fact a very light, thin and very strong rubber cocoon. His mouth and nostrils filled with the lovely perfume of Donna, his eyes wide with aroused astonishment, he watches Anne carefully roll the glove up over his knees and thighs, then over his nappied waist, up over his stomach and chest, and then pull it tightly into place around his neck, thus imprisoning his sissy body in a second skin of cream-coloured latex rubber.
He whimpers into his gag, amazed at the strength of the glove, at his utter helplessness and the pleasure that is flooding through his so effectively restrained form.
‘Perfect,’ Helen whispers. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Donna then disappears into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with, of all things, an upright station porter’s barrow painted hot pink! Poor Chris can then only watch horrified as Helen and Anne proceed to load the mummified sissy onto the barrow and Donna, aided by Helen, wheels him out of the living room and down the corridor to the small door beneath the stairs. Here, Anne produces the final terrifying item of bondage: an eyeless, latex rubber hood that exactly matches the colour and material of the ultra-tight body glove that is now so effectively imprisoning his feminine body. Chris moans fearfully into his pungent panty-gag and shakes his head angrily as Anne stretches the base of the hood wide and prepares to pull it over his head. It is Donna who steps forwards and, assisted by her very high heels, manages to hold his head still as Anne, the cruellest and darkest of smiles on her face, slowly pulls the hood down over his sweaty and terror-streaked face.
Eventually, Anne manages to pull the hood firmly down over his head and allow it to take up its natural clinging second-skin form over his face. As it does so, she carefully ensures that two air holes are positioned directly beneath his nostrils, allowing Chris a deeply disturbed, panic-stricken breathing.
Plunged into a terrible, bottomless darkness, Chris also finds that the rubber hood blocks out all sound and that he is once again lost in a vast pit of total sensory deprivation. The skin-tight body glove, combined with the cord bindings, makes any kind of movement absolutely impossible. In this mummified state he can only wait for the inevitable teasing hands that grasp his body and lift him from the trolley, his well-gagged squeals of despair and fear heard only in his terrified mind as he is then carried through the doorway of the small cupboard and carefully laid out face up on a black rubber mattress. Then he is left. He has no idea that the three women have turned off the light, shut the small door and locked it. He has no idea about the world outside this total, absolute bondage. And so he has no idea that once the door is locked, Anne takes from a pocket in her sexy nurse’s uniform a small remote control device, basically a red plastic button built into a metal box, and then pushes the button down, sending a surprisingly powerful electric signal through the door and through the layer of latex and into the heart of the dildo, an electric signal that triggers a wicked internal mechanism which makes the dildo begin to vibrate deep within Chris’s expertly expanded arse.
And Chris can only scream silently into the tasty panty-gag as the vibrations begin to increase, and as the waves of intense sexual pleasure once again course through his sissified, so expertly restrained body. Unable to move more than an inch in the absolute darkness, he can only endure what quickly becomes a terrible, all-pervasive pleasure. His erection is soon once again straining angrily against the metal restrainer and he is once again riding the roller coaster of pain and pleasure. Yet this torment, this awful ambivalence, is new. For it doesn’t end; or, rather, its end is unknown. This is the deepest sea of masochistic pleasure he will dive into. As the long night passes, he will forget everything except the teasing pleasure of the dildo deep in his arse and the burning, unfulfilled desire it inspires. He will travel to the black, molten heart of sex and become nothing but this sex; it will consume him and remake him. In the terrible fire of this long, lonely, agonisingly pleasurable night, the last traces of his masculinity will be destroyed forever and Christina will finally be fully alive.
By the time he is released from his mummified bondage hours later, he has descended into a hallucinatory madness of absolute sex. He has no memory of being carried from the cupboard, of being carefully stripped of the rubber body glove and hood. Visions of his three mistresses haunt his dreams. Maybe they are talking, maybe there are looks of considerable concern in their beautiful eyes. But then there is blackness, a deep, empty blackness from which he is pulled by another voice, the very sexy, yet also stern voice of Helen.
‘Chrissie? Chrissie – wake up. You’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours, you silly little girl. Wake up immediately!’
He opens his eyes slowly, fearfully, afraid yet again that this whole wondrous adventure has been a dream. Yet here is Helen leaning over the cot, her gorgeous brown eyes betraying the slightest uncertainty. And here he is, in the cot, secured by the shackles, dressed in the sexy baby clothes, dummy-gagged, the bonnet tied tightly to his head.
How did he get here? Much later Donna will tell him that they had pulled him from the cupboard to discover a sex zombie, that once the glove and hood had been removed, he had been found in a deep, delirious sex-trance; that Donna had wanted to take him to the hospital, that Anne had disagreed, that there had been an argument. But Helen had insisted they continue as planned. Then, to their relief, he had stirred, showed signs of life. But he was still incoherent, still possessed by the sex-heat, and rambling about his desires, calling out their names. They had carried him upstairs, bathed him, calmed him down. To their amazement, he had begged to be refeminised as quickly as possible, making it quite clear that at the heart of his passion was a mad need for his complete subjugation to femininity and thus the true expression of Christina. They were amazed as he ranted about these desires, as he confessed his addiction. So they had made him up once again and put him back into the latest version of the sweet baby attire.
It had been Helen who suggested they put him back in the cot. And as soon as he had been secured, his baby girl eyes had fluttered sweetly, he had moaned weakly into his fat dummy-gag and then fallen into a deep, prolonged sleep.
Now, twenty-four hours later, he faces the lovely Helen and knows he is a changed person, that Chris is now truly lost in the mists of a memory virtually destroyed by the events of the past forty-eight hours. As he is helped from the cot by this stunning woman with her sensual brown eyes, her full, cherry-red lips and ample, shapely body, he feels an intense, almost overwhelming desire to obey her, to serve her, to submit completely and absolutely. At the same time, the sense of his own femininity is now all-pervasive. Even as he is guided to the dressing table and allowed to sit before his expertly sissified and quite beautiful reflection, he knows he has reached a point of no return: that he can never go back to being Chris, to living as a man of any kind, to work in that prison-like office and pretend to care about the stifling boredom of the administrative process.
For the rest of the week, he positively revels in his babification, demonstrating his increasing femininity to his mistresses with every gesture, every movement, every act of enthusiastic submission. Even as he is spanked, bound, gagged, as he is relentlessly humiliated, as he subjected to the constant painful presence of the cock-ring and driven to the edge of sexual madness by the teasing, the oral sex, the forced breast-suckling, the torments of the refitted anal plug, even as he endures all of this, his pleasure is absolute, his desire for more of the same powerful, unbowed, unending.
Then, suddenly, it is Saturday again, and his week of babification is over. He is taken from the cot in the very early morning by Helen and Donna and congratulated on his sissy progress. Then he is informed he will now act as their personal maidservant on a full-time basis for the next seven days. He curtseys his understanding and cannot help display his intense pleasure, yet at the back of his mind is the terrible reality of time, the fact that at the end of this next week he will be returned to the world of Chris, to the slavery of work, to the despair of his very poor masculine disguise.
Helen and Donna spend the next hour or so meticulously preparing their sissy maid, quickly stripping away his baby attire and, to his considerable relief, removing the terrible cock-ring and the soft, cruel stocking restrainer. Then he is taken to the shower and made to wash thoroughly, removing the china doll make-up and the various odours and memories of his extended and deeply bizarre babification.
Once showered and dried, the two women envelop him in a fine mist of expensive, pungent perfumes and return him to the nursery. Here he is transformed into the maid Christina, a deliberately slow and loving resurrection of the sexy she-male created by the women before his imprisonment in nappies. But this transformation is taken to a new level of magnitude, the creation not only of a she-male servant but also of an utterly convincing woman. What Donna and Helen create here is a new, genuinely feminine person. Assisted by the psychological impact of the babification, by the new personality they have forged out of an extreme act of imprisonment and mental restructuring, they are able to give Christina a unique rebirth. The new, improved Christina, as it were. Christina Mark II.
The first item in this new feminisation is a fresh restrainer. To Chris’s relief, he is not to be returned to the torments of the cock-ring. Instead, Helen opens one of the dressing table drawers and takes from inside it a pink rubber sheath. She then holds the sheath before him in an almost teasing manner.
‘A little less brutal than the cock-ring, Christina, but just as effective. The sheath is made of a type of latex rubber that contracts when heated. Thus the more hot blood that pours through your naughty little prick as you become excited, which seems to be most of the time, the tighter the restrainer becomes. Believe it or not, a full erection will be quite impossible. But the level of discomfort will be far less. This said, we obviously reserve the right to put you back in the cock-ring at any time.’
She hands the restrainer to Donna, who then slips it over the bulging crimson head of Chris’s swelling cock and pulls it slowly down the rigid shaft. His inevitable moans bring mocking laughter and a slap to his backside from Helen. Donna then pulls the rubber restrainer down over his balls and lets it tighten almost immediately over his long-suffering genitals.
After the restrainer, he is forced to lean forwards, his legs wide apart, his hands resting on the dressing table chair. Donna then produces the long, black rubber, ribbed dildo and waves it cruelly before his now wide, startled eyes.
‘Five inches,’ she teases, her smile cruel and excited. ‘Two inches longer than the plug.’
Helen then dons rubber gloves and carefully eases the plug from his arse. As soon as it is free, she greases his anus with more Vaseline, producing a series of long, deeply aroused moans, which are rewarded with another firm slap to his pert, girlish buttocks. And it is Donna who then slowly slips the dildo into his back passage, all the time teasing him and thus inspiring even more pleasure.
‘We’ve been really impressed by the way you’ve taken to the plug, Chrissie. And when you responded so well to the previous dildo, we knew it was time to use it on a regular basis. It won’t be long before you can take a real cock.’
Her closing sentence makes his heart skip with a sudden, dark dread, yet despite this he cannot deny the very real pleasure he receives from this relentless and developing anal stimulation.
Once the dildo is pushed deep inside him, he is made to rise to his feet and then ordered to step into a pair of very slight black rubber panties, which are then pulled up his long, elegant, silky smooth legs by Helen. With a strangely maternal smile and a very erotic delicacy of movement, she guides the panties up over his sheathed cock and pulls them firmly into place around his slender waist. To his amazement, he quickly becomes aware that the panties are made out of exactly the same material as the sheath. As soon as they are in place, the panties seem to shrink around his waist, pressing his tightly restrained cock against his stomach and slipping between his legs to press very tightly against the dildo.
After the panties come a pair of seamed, very sheer, silk tights. This unusual and very expensive item of hosiery is handed by Helen to Chris with a knowing smile.
‘A special treat, Christina – to mark your full initiation into femininity.’
He accepts the tights with the sweetest curtsey he can manage, then sits down on the dressing room chair and begins to guide them up his lovely legs. The sensations the soft, delicate silk tights produce against the smooth skin of his long legs is virtually indescribable. He gasps with a profound, giddying pleasure as he guides the hose over his knees and then stands to carefully guide them up over his thighs.
By the time he positions the tights around his waist, tears of pleasure are welling up in his pretty eyes and Donna has returned from a visit to the wardrobe carrying a spectacular black and red leather corset with rose-patterned satin panels. Chris stares at the latest item of fetish wear with hungry eyes, eager for it to be fitted around his sissy body. This she does with a lingering gentleness, her own gorgeous body brushing against his as she leans around his torso to pull the two halves of the corset together at the centre of his back. It is as she then uses the thick, black silk ribbon laces to pull the corset painfully tight that Chris becomes aware that this corset has a very strong and utterly unyielding whalebone frame.
‘A genuine antique, Christina,’ Helen informs him. ‘Mid-Victorian. I hope you appreciate it.’
He tries to curtsey his appreciation, but the corset is bound so tightly, the level of movement required to perform a full curtsey is impossible, and his attempts inspire mocking laughter from the two lovely women.
‘It’ll take a little while before you can perform a full curtsey, Chrissie,’ Donna says, a loving smile lighting up her beautiful face.
The dressing continues in an atmosphere of electric sexual excitement. An expertly padded black silk bra follows the corset and Chris once again wallows in the strange, intense pleasure of false breasts. Then there is a very delicate black silk petticoat which barely reaches the tops of his thighs. This lovely, scanty item of exotic lingerie is followed by a return to the dressing table, where Donna reacquaints Chris with the beautiful face of Christina, with the impressively convincing she-male beauty he has always known, but who only Donna and Helen have been able truly to reveal.
And after the make-up comes the glorious Bettie Page wig and once more he is lost in his own startling reflection.
‘I should be used to it now,’ Helen mumbles. ‘But she’s so convincing. It’s almost unbelievable.’
A moment of almost reverential silence follows before Chris is helped back to his feet and presented by Donna with the stunningly beautiful, intricate black maid’s dress he had first been introduced to a few weeks before.
As he is helped into the dress, a sense of beautiful serenity washes over him. Suddenly he feels perfectly natural, at one with himself in a way that he has never felt before. Now there is no guilt, no anxiety, no fear. Christina is now so natural, so absolutely him. So absolutely her .
As if reading his mind, Helen announces the latest rule of the house.
‘From now on, Christina, you will be regarded as a fully-fledged female. There will be no reference made to your biological sex or to your previous gender. Here, and in the company of all your mistresses, you will be she . You must regard yourself as such at all times. Eventually, it will become instinct.’
And who are we to argue with the glorious, regal Mistress Helen? From now on, at her command, Chris is no more. Now we are telling the story of the beautiful she-male Christina and the emphasis is most definitely on she .
* * *
Christina spends the rest of the morning serving Helen and Donna with a delicately mincing and deeply submissive enthusiasm. In five-inch spike-heeled court shoes, she totters from room to room, from task to task, cleaning, washing, serving with a cherry-lipped smile, her sissy eyes wide with masochistic pleasure, her pretty, girlish bottom wiggling teasingly beneath its layers of feminine imprisonment.
Helen and Donna are both surprisingly relaxed with their lovely charge, adopting none of the stern mannerisms of the last seven days. Indeed, they seem particularly proud of their sissy creation and Christina finds herself praised and encouraged throughout the morning. Donna is particularly pleasant towards Christina, her manner much more that of the few weeks before her slave’s intricate and so successful babification. And Donna’s charming, sensual manner is made even more effective by two things. First, there is her clothing: a beautiful, very short pale-blue silk dress, very fine white stockings and a pair of pale-blue stiletto heels that match the dress almost exactly. With her hair in a tight bun held in place by a sparkling diamond clip, expensive diamond stud earrings and a pearl choker necklace, she is a vision of cool sophistication, a vision that is both new and bold, a vision that makes it clear Donna is eagerly developing her role as a dominant mistress. Secondly, there is the restrainer. Unlike the cock-ring, there is little or no pain associated with the rubber sheath. At most there is a firm, restraining tightness that makes a full erection impossible yet, at the same time, the feel of the restrainer is strangely arousing. So, paradoxically, the more Christina is restrained, the more excited she becomes, a striking reaffirmation of the pain/pleasure dialectic, which she is sure is quite deliberate.
Helen, dressed in a long, loose black dress, very sensible shoes and black hose, appears to be indifferent to any potential effect she may have upon her lovely sissy maid. Yet, even in these rather unappealing clothes, she is still very beautiful and an object of total adoration for the gorgeous, simpering Christina.
And it is Helen who, just before lunch, summons her to the living room. Christina totters delicately from the kitchen and curtseys before her stunning mistress.
Helen smiles and appraises the sexy slave with warm, quite obviously aroused eyes.
‘After lunch Donna and I will take you shopping. You need some clothes for out of doors and for visits. Also, some more undies. We also thought it would be good practice for developing your feminine persona.’
Stunned, even horrified, yet also helplessly excited, Christina curtseys her understanding and gives no sign of her inward fear.
‘Now,’ Helen continues. ‘There is also the question of this friend you were reluctant to tell us about.’
Christina curtseys again, less surprised than curious now, prepared to tell Helen everything without a moment’s hesitation.
‘Tell me about her.’
So Christina quietly, politely, and somewhat nervously tells her beautiful mistress about Annette, about their e-mail relationship, about how beautiful and confident she is, about her envy and desire for this attractive, outgoing she-male who has tried so hard to bring Christina out of her shell.
‘She’s sounds very interesting, Christina. I want to meet her. I want her to meet us all. I take it you can arrange it?’
‘I can try, mistress.’
‘Good. After we’ve been shopping, we’ll stop off at your flat and you can send her an e-mail. I suggest you get her phone number. You should also send her a photo – do you have a scanner?’
Christina painfully curtseys in the affirmative.
‘We’ll get a photo done in town – I know someone who’ll do it quickly.’
Christina listens in amazement, but never once shows any sign of doubt or fear. This, she realises, is the next step in her development, in the realisation of her dream to become a complete she-male. How often has she dreamed of finding the courage to send the lovely Annette a photo, to develop a real friendship, even to meet her. Now this dream, like so many others, is coming true. Now she is truly stepping out of the closet!
Christina is then sent off to prepare a simple salad lunch and serve it to her two mistresses, her sissy heart pounding with joyous anticipation.
Christina eats her own salad lunch at a counter in the kitchen, her mind racing with thoughts of the impending trip and her communication with Annette.
After lunch, Donna takes the gorgeous she-male upstairs to the spare room. The nursery items have now been removed, and the room is once again a simple, somewhat Spartan guest space.
Donna helps Christina out of the maid’s dress, cap and gloves, but insists that she remain in the rest of her beautiful, sexy attire. From the wardrobe, which has been emptied of all its baby wear, she takes a very pretty silver-grey blouse and a very short, matching skirt. She places the clothes on the bed and tells Christina to put them on with a sexy, slightly devious smile. As Christina slips into the blouse and the skirt with as much feminine grace as possible, Donna returns from a second visit to the wardrobe with a grey jacket that matches the skirt exactly.
The very high neck of the blouse is fitted with a wide bow, which Donna then carefully positions before helping her slave-lover into the jacket. As she secures the jacket’s pearl grey buttons, their eyes meet.
‘You look fantastic, Chrissie. In fact, you just keep looking better and better. And the better you look, the more I fancy you.’
Christina moans her appreciation and feels her inflamed, frustrated sex press hungrily into the tight rubber fabric of the restrainer.
‘Seeing that you’ve been such a good girl,’ she continues, her eyes burning into Christina’s, ‘you can sleep with me tonight. And I’ll expect you to demonstrate all your sissy sex skills.’
Poor Christina can barely manage the slightest of curtseys without losing her balance, her knees are so weakened by the erotic power of Donna’s words.
‘And while we’re out,’ she continues, slipping a hand beneath his short skirt, ‘I’m going to buy you a suitably erotic nightdress.’
Christina moans with a terrible, aroused longing as Donna runs an index finger along the curved, rigid contour of her pantied, rubberised and hosed sex. Then her lover’s lips are brushing against her rouged cheeks, then they are embracing, then they are locked in a long, desperate kiss. Christina’s own hands seek out Donna’s heaving breasts, but her mistress pushes them away and then stands back from her gorgeous she-male slave.
‘Later, Chrissie. Now it’s time to go down and show yourself to Helen and then we can go shopping.’
But before Donna leads Christina from the room, she makes sure the lovely she-male has a full view of herself in the wardrobe mirror. And, of course, Christina is quite astounded. This is the first time she has seen herself in non-fetish wear and the reality of the illusion, or rather the reality of Christina, is complete and undeniable, a very beautiful, incredibly sexy woman in the shortest of mini-skirts, her long, shapely legs teasingly displayed in the seamed, black silk tights and five-inch high stiletto heels.
‘Every man in town will be on his knees before you, Chrissie,’ Donna teases, her own eyes filled with a powerful hunger for this startling she-male beauty.
Her words fill Christina with a strange, ambivalent pleasure. The thought of men, of a man , wanting her, desiring her. She feels the dildo locked deep between her buttocks and cannot deny that the thought excites her, and even to allow herself this radical thought, to confess to such a reaction, is a significant indication of how much she has changed in the last seven days. I will do anything they want me to do, she thinks, even – even pleasure a man. And as she thinks this, her erection struggles that little bit harder against its far from unpleasant pink rubber prison.
* * *
Helen is obviously very impressed by Christina’s new look. Yet it is Christina who finds herself the more impressed for, during her transformation, Helen has changed into a knee-length black skirt, a white blouse and a black velvet jacket, plus a pair of very high-heeled court shoes and black nylon tights. Her hair is tied in a tight bun, her lips painted a thick, blood red. She is the perfect, ample-figured dominatrix. And as Helen leads Donna and Christina out of the house to the driveway, a sense of almost unbearable erotic elation washes over the beautiful, utterly convincing she-male.
Helen opens the rear passenger door of her car and helps a mincing, nervous Christina climb into the back. As the sexy she-male does so, she finds herself struggling with the very high heels and the ultra-short mini-skirt rides up her shapely, finely hosed legs, exposing her pretty panties to full view. Poor Christina blushes furiously as Helen and Donna burst into laughter.
‘You’ll have to do better than that in the town, Christina,’ Helen jokes, ‘or the boys will be in for a very entertaining treat.’
As Christina hurriedly pulls her legs together and straightens her skirt, Donna and Helen climb into the front of the car. Helen starts the engine and slowly guides the car out onto the main road. As she does so, a sense of skin-tingling anticipation washes over the gorgeous she-male. Rather than the fear and anxiety she had expected, her ‘debut’ outside of the house is an intensely exciting and liberating event. Now she is very much looking forward to revealing herself in the town, to finally stepping out of the closet and into the big, wide world. She now sees that this is the only way she will ever truly become Christina.
As the car heads into the town centre, there is very little conversation. Christina finds herself staring longingly at the back of her mistresses’ lovely heads and contemplating the afternoon ahead. And by the time Helen drives the car into a large multi-storey car park in the centre of town, Christina’s sissy heart is pounding with a helpless she-male excitement. Now she is positively desperate to be out of the car and on the street, open to the gazes of all the other shoppers, fully exposed, yet at the same time so expertly disguised.
They park on the top floor of the crowded car park and Donna helps Christina out of the car. Unfortunately, her exit is no less revealing than her entrance, and once again poor Christina is tormented by the cruel laughter of the women. But soon they are walking across the car park. Finally, Christina is fully in the outside world. But it is not until they leave the car park and suddenly plunge into the mayhem of the Saturday afternoon shopping frenzy that the full impact of Christina’s exposure crashes over her expertly feminised body like a vast wave of erotic self-realisation. Yet this is more than just the startling face of reality: this is reality heightened, reality expanded and deepened, reality accentuated almost unbearably by sex.
She takes small, dainty steps, she wiggles her barely covered bottom, her delicately hosed thighs rub together and the dildo travels deeper into her. The very convincing false breasts bounce merrily before her and she fights the urge to shout out her excitement and delight. Then there are the eyes, the eyes of the men especially. Suddenly she sees what all beautiful women must see every day of their lives: the hungry, helplessly fascinated, desiring eyes of men, eyes drinking up this gorgeous sex-pot, eyes filled with need and desperation. Yet, for Christina, there is nothing intimidating in these eyes. Indeed, it soon becomes clear that it is the men who are intimidated, that behind their desire is a very real fear of such powerful, blatant and, in some ways, unobtainable beauty. Yes, powerful beauty, the strength of this sexy, forceful exhibition. They want me, yet they fear me. And they want me because they fear me. And it is these simple, obvious thoughts that encourage her, that and the more aggressive confessions of fearful desire, the cheeky remarks, the wolf whistles, even on one occasion, a very quick and arousing pat on her shapely, hosed behind.
‘You’re quite a hit, Christina,’ Helen teases, as they cut through the crowds.
‘Do you like it, all this attention, all these sad male eyes burning into you?’
‘Yes, mistress,’ Christina confesses. ‘I thought it would be frightening, or horrible. But it’s really rather sexy.’
‘Turns you on, does it?’ Donna asks, her own eyes filled with desire.
‘Yes, mistress. Very much.’
They arrive at the women’s clothing store soon after this exchange, a large, elegant and obviously very exclusive shop that stands proudly in the centre of the main shopping complex. The two women lead their she-male slave through large, gold edge glass doors. And almost as they step through this doorway, a very plump, yet strikingly beautiful woman appears from between two long rows of dresses, her thick, strawberry blonde hair styled in a classic film star cut and gleaming under the powerful white light that fills the shop. She is dressed in a black silk suit consisting of a loose-fitting jacket and a skirt reaching down to just below her knees, a high-necked white silk blouse with a diamond broach centrepiece placed beneath its frilled collar, jet black hose and matching black patent leather, stiletto heeled court shoes. Her eyes are a stunning pale blue, her lips a sparkling blood red. As she smiles warmly at the new customers, she reveals a generous double chin and a very full, yet pleasantly chubby face.
‘Helen, how nice to see you again. Anne told me you would be popping in.’
Helen smiles and Christina watches as they share a very warm embrace.
‘Amanda, this is Donna, my friend, and this, as you probably know, is Christina, our maid.’
Christina blushes at Helen’s description and then astounds herself by performing a deep, sexy curtsey that brings an even wider smile to Amanda’s lovely mouth.
‘My, my. Yes, indeed. Anne told me all about Christina, but I never expected this! She’s incredible. I mean…she…he?’
Amanda stares at Christina in amazement, her mouth slowly dropping open, her eyes widening as the true extent of the she-male sinks in.
‘She,’ Helen corrects. ‘Very definitely she .’
Still obviously astounded, Amanda leads the two women and Christina down a marble floored walkway that runs between row after row of beautiful and clearly very expensive dresses hanging from golden framed racks. A number of elegant, extremely well dressed women are looking through the racks, one or two attended by younger women dressed in what is obviously the store uniform: a very tight white nylon sweater, a very short black shirt, black tights and high heels.
Eventually, they reach the rear of the shop. It is here that lingerie and shoes are displayed, the shoes on a series of wooden shelves, the various items of lingerie either on showroom dummies or further golden-edged racks. Beyond the racks are a series of curtained changing rooms and a door. They go through the door and then down a long corridor. At the end of the corridor is a large office and just before the office, another door, which leads into a private changing and viewing room.
It is this room into which Amanda leads the two women and the lovely, startled she-male.
The room is perfectly oval. It is painted a soft yellow, with a sky-blue carpet, a number of striking watercolour nudes hanging at regular intervals from the curving wall, and a large, white leather sofa at its centre. Next to the sofa is a wooden, leather-backed chair and a glass-topped coffee table. Amanda asks Helen and Donna to sit on the sofa. She sits on the wooden chair. It is made clear that Christina is to remain standing.
‘Anne mentioned that you were looking for quite formal attire, formal but sexy?’
As she speaks, Amanda’s large, very beautiful blue eyes crawl over Christina’s expertly feminised body. She is fascinated, yet also disturbed. It is clear that this is not what she was expecting, that the reality, or rather the conviction of the transformation, is much stronger than she had previously thought possible. And even as Helen is nodding in response to her question, Amanda is confessing her disturbance.
‘He…she’s so very convincing, Helen. And so beautiful. How on earth did you find a man…a…’
‘Christina had been practising before we met her. But I think it is fair to say that we have helped her realise her full potential.’
Christina curtseys her appreciation of Helen’s remarks and Amanda’s smile widens.
‘And she is totally obedient?’ Amanda asks.
‘Oh, yes,’ Helen responds. ‘Christina is intensely masochistic, so she actually takes pleasure in her servitude. In fact, the more we humiliate her, the more excited she seems to become.’
Amanda’s smile widens even further. She sits back slightly and then slowly crosses her legs, allowing the modest black silk skirt to rise up her legs to the border between her mid- and upper thigh. Despite her generous figure, Christina immediately notices that Amanda has very long, shapely legs and feels her sex expand hungrily inside its inescapable rubber prison.
‘You’re very lucky, Helen,’ the plump blonde whispers.
‘Maybe. But personally I think Christina is the lucky one.’
‘Yes, perhaps she is. But I know a lot of women who would pay quite a lot to spend time with a pretty she-male slave girl.’
Helen smiles sympathetically. ‘Perhaps we could arrange for Christina to spend some time with you, to help you round the shop, or maybe act as your house maid for a day. I’m sure Christina would be more than willing to demonstrate the possibilities of her servitude.’
Christina listens in amazement and watches as Amanda’s smile widens even further.
‘Yes, that would be very nice. I’ll talk to Anne.’
There is a brief pause during which Amanda’s eyes remain fixed on Christina. Then there is a knock at the door. Shaken from her trance, Amanda utters a curt ‘Enter’. The door opens and a rack of clothing is pushed into the room by one of the erotically uniformed assistants, a very pretty brunette, certainly no more than eighteen years of age, and her eyes fix immediately on the stunning she-male beauty.
‘Thank you, Myriam,’ Amanda says, her eyes regarding the brunette in an obviously sexual manner. ‘Please bring the rack into the centre, and I’d be grateful if you would stay and help Christina.’
The lovely brunette smiles shyly and whispers ‘Yes, Miss Chalmers’, in a thick, very sexy southern French accent.
Under Amanda’s instruction, Myriam then steps forwards and begins to help Christina strip down to her sexy undies. Myriam’s jet black hair is styled in a very short page boy manner. She has incredibly large, very soft brown eyes that peer up at Christina with an intense and very sexual curiosity. Her wide, sensual mouth, painted a light peach, widens into a shy smile as she begins to unbutton Christina’s suit jacket and the she-male fights a gasp of pleasure, her own eyes feasting on Myriam’s very large breasts pressing teasingly against the erotic material of the tight white nylon sweater and, for such a small beauty, her very long, black nylon-sheathed legs.
With Myriam’s assistance, Christina spends the next two hours in an almost sublime state of intense embarrassment and wild desire. Aroused and humiliated, aroused because humiliated, she models every item of clothing on the rack. Skirts, blouses, dresses, jackets: a whole variety of formal yet very feminine attire
And as she models these lovely outfits for her mistresses, she listens to their conversation with an interest regularly undermined by the close proximity of the lovely Myriam. It quickly becomes clear that Amanda is Anne’s lover. Not only that, but the two women live together. This information alone is enough to make Christina’s eyes widen in amazement. Despite Anne’s dark nature and apparent sadistic streak, the she-male has never even remotely considered the possibility that she might be a lesbian. And as she considers this new, surprising fact, she also recalls the rumours that have surrounded Katherine and Helen for so long. Most people in the office consider Katherine to be a lesbian of some sort and Helen is seen as her not so secret object of desire. But now Christina finds herself wondering if Katherine’s desire is in fact rooted in some deeper knowledge of Helen’s true nature.
Eventually, three separate outfits are chosen from the rack. As Myriam gathers up the clothes, Donna asks Amanda if she has any ‘nightwear’.
‘Something erotic,’ Donna adds, her gorgeous eyes falling longingly on a highly aroused Christina.
Amanda smiles knowingly and then tells Myriam to return to the shop and find something suitable. Still stripped down to her undies, Christina is told not to dress until the gorgeous assistant returns. Meanwhile Helen rises from the leather sofa and walks over to the sexy she-male beauty.
‘You’re a big hit with Amanda,’ she whispers, running a long, blood-red-nailed index finger over the front of her slave’s pretty panties and inspiring a moan of desperate pleasure.
‘Thank you, mistress,’ Christina gasps.
‘I think you should spend some time with her. She’ll be very useful to us in the future and I want her to see the advantages of involving herself in your transformation. Do you understand?’
Christina answers with a deep, affirming curtsey.
‘Good. I’ll tell her you’ll come over on Monday.’
As her spinning sissy mind attempts to deal with the implications of Helen’s words, Myriam returns to the room carrying a large black box and hands it to Amanda.
‘I think this is the sort of thing you’re probably looking for,’ Amanda says to Donna, placing the box at the gorgeous blonde’s side.
Donna thanks her and removes the lid. From inside she takes a stunning pink silk baby-doll nightdress, which has been frilled at the short sleeves, very high neck and wide, also very short hem with thick cherry-red fur. As well as the nightdress, Donna also produces a pair of very skimpy, see-through pink panties.
Smiling broadly, she turns her lovely blue eyes onto the scantily glad, highly aroused Christina.
‘Oh, I think these will do wonderfully, Amanda. Don’t you agree, Chrissie?’
Christina curtseys weakly and whispers a hoarse, ‘Yes, mistress.’
The women burst into laughter at this helplessly aroused response. Donna then packs the nightdress back into the box as Myriam, supervised by Amanda, packs the other clothing that Helen has chosen for her beautiful sissy slave. Helen then orders Christina to put her original clothing back on and turns to Amanda.
‘You’ve been marvellous, as usual. I’ll make sure that Christina is at your house by 8.30 a.m. sharp on Monday morning. I’m sure you’ll find her very accommodating.’
Amanda thanks Helen and her gaze slowly passes over the lovely she-male, who curtsies her own thanks to this generously proportioned beauty and the lovely, petite but very shapely Myriam, whose beautiful brown eyes still betray a very powerful and deeply perverse desire.
It is well after 4.00 p.m. by the time the two women and their she-male servant leave the shop. Once outside, Christina is again overwhelmed with an intense excitement and all thoughts of her impending adventure with Amanda quickly fade.
Carrying two large, elegantly designed bags full of the sexy clothing Helen and Donna have chosen for her, Christina minces prettily behind her two mistresses, making sure to keep her legs as tightly together as possible, her steps as short as possible and thus her wiggling bottom teasingly prominent. Wolf whistles and bawdy comments follow the sexy she-male across the shopping centre and into a small photography shop located only a few hundred yards from the multi-storey car park. Christina is led inside by her two beautiful mistresses, her sissy heart once again pumping desperately with aroused anticipation.
The walls of the shop are covered in portrait photographs and very little else. Three much larger group portraits are placed on tripod stands by the front window. At the rear of the shop is tiny counter and sitting behind it is a pretty teenage girl reading a newspaper. She only looks up from the paper when Helen, standing impatiently at the counter, coughs angrily.
The girl looks up, her eyes filled with boredom.
‘Yes?’ she mumbles.
‘We’re here to see Ingrid. I’m Helen, this is Donna and this,’ she says, pointing at Christina, ‘is the commission I mentioned over the phone this morning.’
The girl suddenly sits bolt upright, drops the paper and begins nodding nervously, her wide eyes never leaving Christina.
‘Yes. Er, sorry. I’ll go and get Miss Hessler.’
She then jumps up and disappears through a curtain into the back of the shop.
Helen sighs impatiently and turns to Donna. ‘Why does Ingrid work here? What a terrible dump!’
As Helen bemoans the shop, the curtain parts and, to Christina’s surprise, a very tall blonde woman enters the shop, a stunning Nordic beauty with piercing ice-blue eyes and golden hair that stretches down over her broad shoulders, a woman dressed in a very tight white T-shirt and jeans which display her very voluptuous figure perfectly. She smiles at Helen and Donna and looks very carefully at Christina.
‘This is…her?’
Her accent is heavy, German or Scandinavian, and her eyes betray a steel-hard countenance that sends a shiver of fear down Christina’s sissy spine.
Helen smiles and nods. ‘Ingrid, meet Christina. Christina, say hello to Mistress Ingrid.’
Christina performs a suitably deep and submissive curtsey and Ingrid bursts out laughing.
‘Good grief!’ she shouts, tossing back her golden river of hair. ‘What a stunner! Where on earth did you find him or her? We can make a fortune!’
‘Anne seems to agree with you.’
‘Yes, she left a message. I’ll ring her later.’
Poor Christina hasn’t the foggiest idea what these gorgeous women are talking about. But whatever it is, she feels certain it will involve even more bizarre and ultra-kinky adventures.
‘Bring her through,’ Ingrid says. ‘Everything is ready.’
Helen then leads Christina around the counter and through the tatty curtain. She finds herself in an ill-lit corridor that smells badly of damp. She minces slowly along behind her mistresses until they reach a large metal door near the end of the corridor. Ingrid opens the door and they are suddenly covered in a powerful white light.
‘Ladies first,’ Ingrid jokes, and Helen ushers Christina inside.
To her amazement, Christina almost immediately discovers herself in a very large photographic studio, a vast white-walled room housing a vast array of hi-tech photographic equipment, numerous backdrops and, in one corner, what appears to be a very large bed.
Helen seems as surprised as Christina.
‘Amazing,’ she says. ‘And the place looks such a dump from the outside.’
Her deep, sensual voice echoes around the cavernous room, as does the collective sound of their high heels striking the concrete floor.
‘The shop is a front. As seventy-five per cent of my work is of a rather intimate nature, I find it much easier to work behind the disguise of drabness and mediocrity. Now let’s see what we can do with your pretty sissy, Helen.’
Ingrid then takes Christina by the hand and guides her onto a circular platform in the centre of the room. Resting on the platform is a metal-framed stool. Christina is made to sit on the stool with her long, delicately hosed legs crossed while Ingrid takes a camera from a side table and aims it directly at the lovely she-male.
‘Anne tells me she has actually started an internet site for Christina,’ Ingrid says, seeking out good angles to photograph the gorgeous sissy, ‘that it will eventually become a pay site, concentrating on heavy S&M. It sounds very ambitious.’
Christina listens in horror and amazement as Ingrid then takes a number of preliminary pictures.
‘Yes,’ Helen replies. ‘Anne has been inspired. Given her connections and tastes, she seems to have discovered the perfect hobby.’
‘A hobby that could make serious money,’ Ingrid says, moving in very close to Christina’s legs.
‘If everything works out, she’ll begin working full-time on the site very soon. And that’s why she’ll be needing your help.’
It is then that Ingrid begins to shout instructions at Christina – ways to pose, attitudes to adopt. At first Christina is terribly embarrassed by these demands, but after a few minutes finds her new feminine self is certainly far more relaxed about public ‘performance’ than her previous male identity. Indeed, it is almost as if the sexy attire and general ‘design’ of the lovely Christina requires an element of theatrical performance. Helen seems particularly interested in the way that her sissy slave quickly adapts to Ingrid’s instructions and a large, satisfied, yet ultimately mysterious smile crosses her face as the she-male strikes a series of sexy, provocative poses before the wildly clicking camera lens.
The photography session lasts maybe thirty minutes and, at the end of it, Ingrid disappears into an adjacent dark room to develop the pictures she has taken of the lovely she-male. As Helen helps Christina down from the platform, she praises her obvious acting abilities.
‘That was very impressive, Christina.’
Christina curtseys her gratitude.
‘Would you like to try acting?’
This question confuses the she-male and her reply betrays her uncertainty.
‘I don’t know, mistress. If you wish me to, then of course.’
‘Well, I think there’s a very good chance I will want you to.’
Christina curtseys her understanding and is then ordered to stand facing a far wall with her hands behind her back while Helen inspects the studio in more detail. Eventually, Ingrid returns from the dark room carrying a collection of photographs and Christina is called over to see the pictures.
Both Helen and her sexy slave are more than impressed by the quality of the pictures, and for the first time Christina sees her true feminine persona revealed photographically. Unlike a reflection, a photograph always appears to provide a more profound insight into the truth of a physical image, and the sexy, teasing beauty that these pictures reveal fill Christina with a strange mixture of pride and desire. It is almost as if she fancies herself!
‘These are excellent, Ingrid,’ Helen exclaims, pulling one particularly sexy shot from the pile. ‘We’ll take this one with us. Bring the rest over next weekend.’
After brief goodbyes, Helen and Christina leave the studio, stagger through the dark recesses of the shop and are soon back in the car and heading to Chris’s flat. And it is only as Helen helps her sexy slave into the back of the car that Christina remembers Donna.
‘Donna had some other shopping to do,’ Helen says, reading Christina’s sudden, sad look. ‘I’m sure you’ll be seeing her later.’
By the time the car pulls up outside the apartment building, Christina is very nervous. While walking through the town was a surprisingly straightforward and very exciting undertaking, returning to the flat where she had lived so unhappily as Chris will be a real test. Surely someone will recognise her – surely she will be exposed!
‘Don’t worry, Christina,’ Helen says, turning from the driver’s seat to face her slave. ‘You look utterly convincing. No one will recognise you. Now go upstairs and send the picture to Annette, and hurry up. I want you back here in fifteen minutes, otherwise your little rendezvous with Donna will be cancelled and you’ll spend the night under the stairs.’
Genuinely appalled by this threat, Christina quickly climbs out of the car and minces into the building. The sound of her heart pounding in terror accompanies her all the way up in the lift, down the second-floor corridor and into the flat. Once inside, she rushes to the computer and turns it on. She discovers two e-mails from Annette, both sadly asking why Christina has stopped talking to her. Christina immediately types out an extremely apologetic message explaining the bizarre adventures of the past few weeks. She also scans in the picture and attaches it to the e-mail as a JPEG file. The e-mail also contains an invitation to meet as soon as possible and the promise that Annette would not only meet Christina but also her three stunning mistresses. As she presses the send button a sense of utter elation washes over her. Now all her dreams are on the verge of coming true. Not only is she now the gorgeous, sexy she-male she has always dreamed of becoming, but she is under the stern and deeply erotic care of three beautiful, dominant and endlessly kinky women. And now, she will hopefully finally get to meet her only true friend through these last deeply frustrating months, the equally beautiful she-male, Annette.
* * *
By the time Helen and Christina get back to Helen’s lavish home, it is just after 6.00 p.m. Helen immediately takes her slave upstairs and helps her change back into her spectacular, ultra-sexy maid’s costume. They then return downstairs, and the lovely she-male spends the next hour or so helping her regal mistress prepare dinner for three. Christina is, without a doubt, now in a state of ecstasy. As she minces sexily before her mistress, her petticoats swaying before her to reveal her silk-pantied behind and long, perfectly shaped, silk-hosed legs, her false breasts bouncing so realistically in their tight silk and nylon prison, the corset forcing her into a helplessly upright posture that insists she totter perpetually on the high, high heels, as each tiny, mincing step forces the dildo deeper into her sexy, eager arse, and as her long-imprisoned and angrily frustrated penis fights hopelessly against its sensual rubber prison, there is an almost transcendent sense of a new, much improved and much larger self. In this intricately feminised state, Chris has become not just Christina, not just a sexy she, but also a totally different being, almost as if the masculine and feminine within him/her have come together and produced a third gender.
This profound, mind-altering pleasure is made even more intense by the domestic tasks that are the practical application of her servitude. As she helps prepare food, as she washes dishes and cooking pans and as she minces so daintily between the kitchen and the dining room, she feels a totally delicious sense of utter submission. It is as if each task has been sexualised, as if the world itself has become a fetishistic sexual entity designed to drive this lovely, sissy she-male mad with desire.
Over the coming weeks, as each day of her maidservant enslavement passes, she will become obsessed with the intricacies of her duties, with ensuring that each task is performed with an exactitude that will both amuse and disturb her mistresses. And of course, one of her greatest pleasures, and also her greatest honour, will be the care of her mistresses’ clothing, a task that Helen will quickly notice arouses Christina terribly, and a task the dark-eyed mistress will subsequently insist the lovely she-male spend the majority of her time undertaking: washing, drying, ironing, storing, even mending every item of Helen’s clothing, from her panties and hose to her most expensive clothes and jewellery. And on top of this delight, there will be an even greater pleasure: the supreme honour of assisting her mistresses, mainly Helen, with dressing and make-up. To stand to rigid attention in her lovely uniform, a large towel at the ready as Helen steps from her steaming shower, to carefully dry and perfume her gorgeous, generous figure, then to help her dress and prepare her make-up. Then, perhaps the most erotic moment, to brush Helen’s beautiful, thick, gleaming brown hair. All these tasks will be performed as if the holiest of religious rituals.
But now it is nearly 8.00 p.m., and the lovely sissy is putting the finishing touches to the dining table as the doorbell rings. Helen orders Christina to answer the door and she minces somewhat nervously from the room and down the hallway. Opening the door, she discovers Donna and Anne and performs the deepest curtsey she can manage. The women ignore their beautiful slave and walk past her into the house. Slightly hurt, especially by Donna’s indifference, Christina minces after her stunning mistresses.
It is only as Christina enters the room behind the two women that she gets a reasonable view of Donna and her sissy heart sings with a terrible, sexual joy. For the lovely blonde has certainly dressed for the occasion. Her voluptuous form is sealed in a very tight black mini-dress made from latex rubber, a spectacular second skin that reveals every erotic contour of her perfect body. Indeed, the dress is so tight and figure-hugging that her long, stiff nipples are clearly defined by the rubber material. Christina’s eyes widen in excited amazement and travel down the dress to her long legs, which are wrapped in ultra-sheer, black nylon, and which lead down to feet erotically imprisoned in a pair of black, patent leather, stiletto-heeled mules. She is wearing her sparkling blonde hair lose tonight and it spills over her rubberised shoulders like a lake of pure gold. Around her slender neck is a choker necklace of black pearls. Her full lips are painted a very bloody red and a hint of pale-blue eye shadow perfectly complements her stunning eyes. Poor Christina cannot resist a moan of hungry desire as she turns these eyes on Christina and smiles teasingly.
Anne is dressed in a very expensive black silk suit, a white, high-necked silk blouse and very high-heeled ankle boots, her own hair bound tightly in a very prim, strict bun. She is wearing little make-up. In her emerald eyes Christina sees a familiar cruel cunning laced with a darker sexual desire and a wave of paradoxically sexy dread washes over her perfectly sissified form.
‘You both look fantastic,’ Helen says, entering the room. ‘You may serve the wine now, Christina.’
The lovely she-male performs another deep curtsey, making sure to display her sexy panties, and then wiggle-minces back into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a silver tray bearing three glasses of golden Chablis.
The women spend the next half hour chatting and drinking, and Christina totters sweetly between them, serving more wine as required. The conversation covers all the bizarre events of the day, and the gorgeous she-male cannot help but listen intently between her serving duties.
‘Amanda was very impressed by Christina,’ Helen says, once the women are seated.
‘She told me,’ Anne responds, her eyes crawling over the lovely Christina like two poisonous snakes. ‘We had a long chat about what she’s going to do with her on Monday.’
Christina’s heart misses a beat, yet she stands perfectly still before her mistresses, having learnt well the lessons of the last few weeks.
‘And do we get to know?’ Helen asks, a smile spreading across her beautiful face.
‘Not tonight. I want it to be a surprise for Chrissie.’
The conversation then turns to Anne’s website project and Christina listens in horrified fascination as the redhead updates her comrades on progress. The ‘Baby Christina’ website is up and running and a huge success. There are thousands of ‘hits’ every day to what is at the moment a free site providing access to the numerous scanned photos of Christina taken during the previous week. Anne also reveals that she has written extensive text as Chrissie’s ‘webmistress’ detailing the humiliations the poor she-male has endured and the plans for her on-going feminisation.
‘I want the site to be a personal history of Christina,’ Anne says. ‘We’ll start with the baby pictures and then progress onto her role as our maid and general slave. Ingrid phoned me earlier this evening and she’s willing to do a whole series of photos of Christina for the site. She’s really enthusiastic. Once we get the full range completed, we’ll establish the pay site and post the pictures. She wants to cover every aspect: Chrissie as a maid, in other uniforms and fetish wear, Chrissie in bondage. She’s also really keen to get some interactive stuff – Chrissie with her mistresses, even Chrissie with a master. She’s even talking about streaming video.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Doing video scenarios involving Chrissie and putting them on the web. She’s convinced we can make a fortune.’
Even Christina, now in some mental discomfort, can hear the devious and highly imaginative machinery of Helen’s brain ticking over.
‘Videos?’ she mumbles, taking a long sip of the wine. ‘That’s a very interesting idea.’
Helen then announces that a special photo session should be arranged with Ingrid as quickly as possible, only to discover that Anne has already organised ‘an initial shoot’ for the coming week.
The conversation continues over dinner, which Christina serves with a deeply worried sissy heart, but a keen and eager sissy body. For the most part the women ignore her, although Donna does pull the gorgeous she-male out of her pit of concern by secretly stroking her hosed thighs as she leans forwards to pour gravy over her roast beef, producing a sudden gasp of pleasure and a much-needed reminder of the treat that lies ahead.
It is after 11.00 p.m. by the time the meal is completed and Christina is left to clear the dining table and do the washing up. And it is near midnight by the time she returns to the living room to find only Donna sitting on the sofa, cross-legged, sipping contemplatively from her wine glass.
‘You’ve really impressed everybody, Chrissie. I’m very proud of you,’ she says, rising from the sofa and walking towards her lovely slave.
Christina curtseys her thanks and feels her heart pound with a terrible desire.
‘Yes, you’ve come a very long way in the last seven days. Helen is really happy with you. And Anne, well, she’s got so many special plans for you. You really are a very lucky little sissy.’
Another curtsey and Donna’s smile widens.
‘And me? Well, you know how I feel about you, Chrissie. This is the way I want you for ever. Just looking at you makes me wet. And I’ve wanted you so badly every night for the past week. And I know you’ve wanted me. Well, as you’ve been such a good girl, tonight you can have me.’
A moan of delight trickles from Christina’s painted lips as Donna then leans forwards and gently kisses her on the lips.
‘Let’s go up to your room,’ she whispers, and the poor she-male beauty nearly faints.
Christina follows Donna up to the spare room in a deep sex-trance, her cock now stretching with a mad fury against its rubber captor and screaming for release. Her eyes eat up Donna’s sheer-nylon-sheathed legs and the perfect contours of her rubberised bottom as they climb the stairs. She has waited so hungrily, so desperately, for this moment, for Donna’s reward, her present for Christina’s patient and so painful days of restraint.
By the time they enter the bedroom, Christina is openly moaning with a deep, boiling need. Donna turns to face her sissy slave, her smile gentle, reassuring. She steps forwards and slips a hand behind the she-male’s petticoats and strokes the front of her pretty, sexy silk panties.
‘Dear me, Chrissie – it’s like a furnace down there. I think we need to let some cool air in.’
Tears of long-denied need begin to trickle down Christina’s carefully painted cheeks as Donna then proceeds very gently to lower the panties over her hosed thighs and lets them drop around her slender ankles.
‘Take the pinny and the dress off,’ she orders, standing back, her eyes filled with desire, her voice hoarse, sex-edged.
Christina obeys, going through the now instinctive balletic contortions that enable her to put on and remove this intricate and so sexy uniform. And soon, she is standing before Donna in only her well-stuffed bra, corset, hose and heels, her rubber-sheathed sex hidden by the very tight, deliberately flattening rubber panties. Donna removes the corset and then helps Christina to remove the bra, carefully taking the silicon-filled false breasts in her elegant hands as she does so. Then, after the sissy has kicked off her high heels, Donna slowly rolls the fine, silk tights over Christina’s long, silky smooth legs and, kneeling down, gently pulls them off her small, dainty feet.
Now, only the rubber panties are left, and it takes a considerable effort of wiggling and pulling for Christina, at Donna’s command, to remove them. Indeed, by the time she has stripped down to just the tight, cruel rubber restrainer, a fine sweat of effort is covering her sissy body and she is standing weakly before the gorgeous Donna, her rampant, furious sex straining upright in its wicked rubber prison and demanding immediate release.
Donna turns from Christina and goes over to the dressing table. She takes a jar of clear gel from the table and brings it over to her slave.
‘This expands the rubber and makes it easier to remove. It will be rather pleasant, so try and control yourself.’
Christina watches with fascinated, hungry eyes as Donna proceeds to daub a large blob of the gel onto her rock-hard sex and then slowly rub it into the second skin of tight rubber. As predicted, Donna’s necessary caress is incredibly pleasurable, and very soon Christina is moaning loudly.
‘You really are a noisy little girl, Chrissie. No wonder we have to gag you!’
Luckily, it takes only a few seconds for the gel to take effect and the rubber restrainer to expand. Donna then slips it from her slave’s engorged sex and Christina releases a loud gasp of relief as she is, for the first time in many days, truly free of tight genital restraint.
Now completely naked before her most beloved mistress, Christina is sorely tempted to pounce on Donna and ravish her on the spot, a terribly regressive, deeply male urge that betrays the fundamental and inescapable nature of her deeper biological make-up, but which her training has ensured is quite controllable.
‘Right. Now let’s get you washed and scented.’
Christina follows Donna into the bathroom, her sex standing proudly and angrily before her like a lightning rod especially attuned to the electro-erotic vibrations emitted by her stunning mistress.
In the bathroom, the lovely Bettie Page wig is removed. Christina is then placed beneath a jet of steaming water, ensuring that every inch of make-up is washed from her face, along with the sweat the striptease has produced. Eventually satisfied her slave is clean, Donna then takes Christina from the shower, quickly dries her and then smoothers her sissy she-male form in a fog of powerful musk perfume. Christina is then led back to the bedroom and to the bed. Laid out on the bed is the sexy baby-doll nightdress that had been selected earlier by Amanda.
‘Put it on. And the shoes. Then come down to my room – the second on the left.’
With this and a very promising smile, Donna departs, leaving Christina to ponder the nightdress and a pair of five-inch heeled, pink patent leather mules that are resting on the floor by the bed.
In a state of quite painful sexual excitement, Christina takes up the skimpy, see-through pink silk panties that accompany the baby-doll. She slips into these with a sigh of pure pleasure and wiggles them up her long, sexy legs. The delicate, diaphanous silk material feels like a thousand baby kisses against her silken skin and as she gently pulls the panties over her enraged sex, she cannot avoid a girlish squeal of uncontrollable pleasure.
It is quickly apparent that the panties are far too small to encompass the raging mass of her sex, and the engorged, purple head sticks out of the top of the panties like a giant sex flower, an effect that is surely quite deliberate. And after the skimpy panties, the lovely, deeply frustrated Christina addresses the wonderful baby-doll itself, taking up the nightdress, made from exactly the same material as the panties, with shaking hands and carefully stepping into it. Then she is falling into a whirlpool of tactile ecstasy, the gorgeous silk material enveloping her ultra-sensitive silken skin and sending electric sex shivers crashing over her sissy body.
Still reeling from the effect of the baby-doll, Christina steps elegantly into the sexy pink mules and totters from the room, wiggle-mincing down the corridor to Donna’s room. Her heart pounding with girlish anticipation, she gently knocks on the door. Donna’s husky, sex-edged voice tells her to come in.
A gasp of amazement is her first reaction to the glorious sight that meets her as she steps through the door. For before her is Donna, the rubber dress removed. She is standing before her slave topless, in black rubber panties, a garter belt, black nylon stockings and her own beautifully high-heeled mules, her hands on her hips, a smile of sinful intent spread across her lovely face, her long blonde hair spilling over her tanned shoulders like a fresh flow of honey-coloured lava.
‘I hope you’re ready to please me,’ she purrs, stepping towards Christina. ‘You can start by taking the rest of my clothes off.’
Moaning her need, she obeys, stripping Donna naked in a few furious, desperate minutes and then leading her to the large, silk-sheeted bed in the centre of the room. Then Donna pulls Christina down onto the bed. The two beauties roll around on the bed in a half-embrace for a few bizarre minutes; then Donna spreads her long legs wide and pushes Christina’s head between them. And for the next two hours, Christina pleases and deeply pleasures her stunning mistress. First with her mouth and tongue, eagerly probing her sex and arse, teasing her stiff nipples, licking every inch of her beautiful, flawless body, covering her in kisses. Worshipping her body, serving her goddess. Then, with her sex. After being carefully sheathed in a thick, ribbed condom by her mistress (a process which inspires cries of ecstatic pleasure), Christina is finally allowed to plunge deep into her mistress. By now they are both soaked in sweat, by now the baby-doll has been ripped from her body. By now they are both naked and lost in the multiple joys of their sexy bodies. And as Christina mounts Donna, as the mistress allows the slave to ride her like a fiery-eyed blonde stallion, Donna’s hands reach up and begin to tease Christina’s nipples.
‘Would you like breasts, Chrissie?’ she gasps, as Christina begins to build a powerful, hard rhythm. ‘A pair of real, ultra-sensitive whoppers?’
Christina, wildly excited, only a few moments away from a huge, volcanic eruption of an orgasm, cries a desperate, ‘Yes, mistress; yes, I’d love to have breasts, the bigger the better.’ And, as if to emphasise the point, her own hands then fall onto Donna’s splendid bosom and begin to knead them quite roughly. Donna’s response is to pinch Christina’s nipples very hard and cry out as the first shock-wave of her own impending orgasm crashes across her superb body.
Then they come, within seconds of each other. The earthquake of desire, the eruption of primal need. In Christina’s case, weeks of suppressed sexual hunger explode like a tidal wave crashing against the fragile brick wall of a dam. Her scream is high-pitched, insane, animal; her whole body is racked by a shudder of extreme ecstasy; silver lights explode before her tightly closed eyes. Then she has fallen into a vast black hole, a place where, momentarily, there is nothing, where she is nothing, a moment of eternity, where time and space have neither begun nor ended. And when she emerges from this strange place, she is on her back, soaked in sweat and Donna is lying against her, her head resting on her slave’s chest, listening to her heart pound. And it is only a few minutes before the two of them, mistress and sissy slave, have fallen into a deep, contented sleep.