Justines Silky Saturday

by Victoria Lovesilk

 

Chapter 1. An Awakening

Justine stirs before me this Saturday morning. She steps lightly into my dreams, imbuing the twilight between sleep and consciousness in a rosy glow of tantalising images. Satins, silks, corsets and petticoats dance through my thoughts. Gradually I awake, dreams, fantasy meshing smoothly with reality. Last night I came to bed a little tipsy, and decided to wear my special chocolate brown silk pyjamas. I come awake aroused at their gentle caress, and my hand slips down to feel my manhood firm and fabulous, pushing against the tantalising fabric.

"Hello again Justine" I think, for I can feel her, languidly stretching within me. If I give the impression of schizophrenia, then I am misleading you. Rather, Justine is simply my femme side. She goes away sometimes for months, but inevitably, happily, always returns, keen to make her voice heard. What brings her back is often by chance - an image in a magazine, a glimpse of lingerie in a shop window. The pebble drops into the pool of my subconscious, and the ripples spread. Over a few days, her need to express herself becomes more seductive, more insistent. I love the steady amplification of her restless sighs within me. I've been on this ride so many times, and I look forward to the journey. She will come, light up a day or two of "me" time in a sensual feminine aura, then, sated, return to sleep within me.

Chapter 2. A day of worship

It is a Saturday morning. My gorgeous wife, who knows all about my kink, is out of town. I have no chores to do, and nobody else to please but myself. That's why I prepared myself for Justine last night, slipping on my lovely girly pyjamas. I am opening the door to her. Today she can take the driving seat. When my male self is driving, the day might be filled with trips to art galleries, or afternoons whiled away with friends, laughing and chatting. But Justine's perfect day is far simpler - she asks for a day devoted to the sensual pleasures of femininity, and the gentle rewards of self-pleasure. And so it will be a day of worship to my Justine, this vain, delightful goddess. And like all worship, this day will have its objects of devotion and fetish. It will be spiritually transporting. It will have its rituals and its own particular superstitions, all of which I look forward to closely observing.

I begin my taking a shower. But beforehand, I cover my body in Imac, and wait for a few, long minutes. Stepping under the water jet, the cream works its magic, my body hair falling away. I love the dramatic change it brings both to me appearance, and the sensitivity of my skin. With the hair removed the true sensual feeling of silks, satins and nylons can be felt - my entire body acts at a heightened level.

Shower completed, I admire my smooth body in the mirror as I carefully shave and trim my eyebrows. Then, loving the sense of luxury, I liberally apply moisturiser to my whole body. Its light perfume thrills with its subtle suggestion that I am embracing my feminine, sissified self. I love giving myself over to this thought, but will not succumb to a premature desire for self-gratification. My ritual is to spend the day taking ever-bolder steps towards a total expression of Justine, and only at the day's apex will I allow myself to come. This teasing foreplay is as rewarding as any ejaculation.

Next I return to our bedroom and open my special drawers. Within lies my extensive collection of ladies underwear. Staked neatly into plump little piles are my slips and knickers, shimmering promises of pleasures to come. I have panties of every hue and colour - form powder pink to bold fucia, from oyster grey to glistening pearl. I have silky French knickers, lacy g-strings, height waisted satin panties and sluttish tiny panties with fat bows to tie off at the sides. I have coils of stockings in every denier, some with seams, others with elaborate laced tops. I have garter belts and corsets, elbow length gloves and ribboned teddies. I have bras of pure lace and pure satin, padded, and push up. These drawers of gorgeous underwear are my alter and the holding place of my most sacred possessions..

 

Chapter 3 In praise of sweet silk nothings

Before I slip them on, I take a moment to admire the black silky French knickers I have chosen to wear today. They are just one item from the cascading mountain of lingerie I possess, a single example of my deep devotion to feminine attire. But the heady feelings such lovely garments inspire takes me to the heart of my love for cross-dressing...

I trace my fingers lightly across the silk, spellbound by the aesthetic perfection and deeply aroused by what these knickers represent - the key to a world of transporting pleasure and sensual delight. Moving my fingers with the grain of the fabric, the material plays beneath my fingertips, flowing against my touch like cool liquid.

Light plays across the silks shimmering surface, glistening in silver rivers of sparkling highlight, and deepening to inky pools of infinite darkness - what other material could capture the light so beautifully? This visual symphony whispers its promise of the ultra smooth kiss the material will bestow upon the wearers skin.

The knickers are edged in a froth of white lace, whose intricate detail and pattern frames the wonderful simplicity of the panels of heavenly silk. Such fanciful detailing is entirely absent from male clothes, and thus worthy of note. For it isn't just the sexy feel of the fabric that captivates me, but also the unbridled femininity of the design. When dressing up, I cherish the sheer "girlyness" of my clothes - I love to wear pink, to have my underwear decorated with floral motifs and extravagant bows, because such adornments confirm, echo and amplify the soft feminine persona that I am slipping into.

Across the knickers waistband the material is nipped into neat little undulations, and it is perhaps testament to my devotion that even these minute details quicken the beat of my heart. My cock stirs into taut life, aching to throb from within a silken embrace. I gaze upon this, my supreme example of feminine attire quite helpless with admiration and desire - they are my fetish, my pleasure and my escape from the confines of the male stereotype I affect in my daily life.

To me these panties are a small masterpiece, a work of art, and my over the top admiration explains a core appeal that cross-dressing has for me; I believe that as a cross dresser I am in the rarefied world of the true connoisseur, for I doubt that many women would register so deep a pleasure from their underwear - after all, for them such garments represent no transgression, not taste of forbidden fruit. Rather a nice pair of knickers perhaps offers girls the same pleasure se a fine glass of wine or a well cut jacket; something to be enjoyed but not coveted or worshipped. And of course for most men women's sexy underwear is simply a prelude to enjoy before the main event. And so I feel quite blessed to be one of the few who can take such deep-seated satisfaction in the transformative powers of such sweet nothings.

Even the simple act of putting on these knickers has a distinct motion different from pulling on boxers. Typically I get dressed in a rush, keen to get moving. But this morning I delicately arch each foot into the panties then stand up, ankles together. The silk is working its magic, making my gestures more considered, more elegant - more feminine. I pull the panties up, feeling their glossy kiss flow up my legs, and slip my aching manhood happily into its true, tantalising home. I glance in the mirror, enjoying the hard bulge described in the soft material, and turning to admire my trim buttocks, now encased and in the high legs of my belles culottes.

My heart beats quicker as I enjoy the intoxicating rush of stepping into my feminine self. The common prejudice is that taking on a girlish persona is to embrace a "weaker" self. For me the opposite is true - I feel powerful, sexy and alive in a way that is never so true when dressed as a man.

With more urgency now, I reach for my underwear's matching slip - again a black silky confection, edged in lace and with the wonderful spaghetti straps. I reach up and let the garment slip down my arms and over my chest. Deftly I shrug my the straps onto my shoulders, then allow myself the illicit thrill of tracing a finger across the front of the slip, teasing my nipples through the fabric. When in "male" mode, such sensual indulgence holds less appeal, but when I am "femme", the naughty pleasure such touching arouses is a total delight for me. Mustering a little control, I stop before I go much further - today is about enjoying the long, intoxicating foreplay of anticipation.

Instead I glance at myself in the mirror - unmistakeably a man, but now one with undeniable sissy tendencies. The simple truth of this at once liberates me into my secret self. No longer Steve now but Justine - my eyes sparkling and alive to life's sensual possibilities

 

Chapter 4. Justines Fantasy begins

 

As I journey into town on the tube for my girly shopping spree, I drift into a daydream about my fantasy of the moment. This is provoked no doubt by the delicious feeling of the French knickers beneath my jeans, and the soft kiss of the silk stockings on my newly shaved legs. I cross my legs demurely, feeling the wonderful touch of these sweet nothings, and embrace my reverie.

I am Victoria, the beautiful she male mistress of an elegant townhouse which I have staffed with four beautiful girls, who act as my pampering handmaids, and who fulfil the role as muses to my erotic needs. With my full curves, pouting mouth and generous dιcolletage I resemble Scarlet Johansson in many ways - but with the added benefit of a lovely long cock which nestles blissfully within my fine lingerie. My maids are all hand picked for their devotion to a life of almost constant sexual expression. They share my love of sensual delight, and the household has attained an almost dream like feeling of arousal. All my girls share a "regulation" black bob - I love to see how their distinct personalities come to life beneath these glossy tresses, and it is particularly rewarding to watch them at their love play en masse when so styled. Each of them wears a fashionable, well cut variation on the maid look;

Aneka, like myself, is deliciously curvy with a generous bosom. Today she is turned out in a knee length satin pencil skirt that frames her beautiful full bottom exquisitely. At its rear it opens into a "mermaid" detail of full material, which swishes and sways as she takes the tiny steps dictated by the tight cut of the skirt. Aneka is quite shy - she blushes easily and is quite submissive - but the way she parts her full lips while going about her tasks, combined with her almost constantly hard nipples poking up against her full black satin blouse tell their own tale of her true arousal. Anekas blouse is provocatively unbuttoned slightly lower than modesty would suggest, affording me tantalising glimpses of her gorgeous creamy tits - breasts which she knows I love to have placed around my aching stiff prick. Like all my girls she wears seemed black stockings and stilettos with fantastically high heels - despite my girl's elegance such footwear requires a particular, fetishlike grace of movement in order for balance to be maintained.

Aneka has a little crush on Cherry. In contrast to the former girls flirtatious shyness, Cherry carries herself with a haughty noble bearing.. She is lithe and leggy, with beautifully fine bone structure and a cut glass accent. As my only English Rose I admire her well-bred manners. But Cherry has a more dominant personality, and enjoys the role of keeping the other girls in line. She teases Aneka mercilessly, and will often act dissatisfied with her adoring pet by taking her in hand with a playful slap across the behind, which Aneka plays up to shamelessly. Today Cherry is wearing a beautiful black silk Gucci dress split to the thigh, and plunging to her navel. As my "head girl" she alone is allowed the distinction of wearing knee high shining boots, again with wonderful glistening heels.Cherry also has the reward of wearing a small silver key which dangles prettily in her clevage. This key unlocks the maids lingerie cupboard. It is Cherrys task to select their intimates each day, in accordance with my own tastes. I then have the pleasure of guessing what each of my girls are wearing against their skin. The girls themselves all love the feel of satin and silk - they beg for perticular favourite items from Cherry, and she uses this power to gain "special favours" from the girls.A pair of particulalrly luxurious panties, say those tied at the side in plump satin bows, can cost a girl dearly to posses for the day.

Charlotte is another tall maiden, with the most wonderful coffee coloured skin and doe eyes that drink in the sexy tableau's around her with sparkling wonder. Charlotte is very excited today to be wering her favourite shoes - above the teetering heels they are tied to her ankles with beutiful black satin ribbons. She loves the fact that when she milks my cock my sperm glistens like shining pearls across her beautiful dark skin - she knows how special I find this. Because of her unique look within my household Charlotte is encouraged to wear white silk blouses, as she does today, matched with another satin pencil skirt - this one amazingly tight as she was stitched into it this morning by her adoring friend Sasha…

Sasha is today showing off in her delightful classic French maids outfit - a super tight black blouse with short sleeves, her magnificent breast thrusting up from the corset beneath. She wears elbow length satin gloves, set off by tinkling silver bracelets. At her waist her skirt blossoms out at almost ninety degrees, supported by a delicious froth of white silken petticoats. The minx goes about her duties never missing an opportunity to bend low at her waist, offering myself and the other girls (all confirmed admirers of feminine charm) sexy glimpses of her firm derriere, encases in glossy black silk panties.

Our day began wonderfully - after a light breakfast my girls completes my toilette, moisturising my skin, applying my perfume, fussing over my long blonde locks and picking out my days dress.

Cherry claimed the prize of slipping my intimate apparel up my tanned legs, while Aneka slipped a wonderfully girlish Givenchy silk dress over my head. It features a fantastically feminine rose petal motif which proudly proclaims my sissy nature for all to see. As the girls dressed me I noticed, as always that they could not resist lingering touches of the silken fabrics, and occasional brushes of their hands over each others brests and bums -as I previously explained, the houses atmosphere is one of continual teasing and erotic playfulness.

Now, as lunchtime approaches, the girls are making great show of dusting my living room, never missing a chance to strike a provocative pose and find each other in close enough proximity for a little petting. Aneka looks longingly at Cherry, but is Charlotte who slips up behind her and cups the young girls breasts provocatively in both her hands. Aneka sighs hopelessly, abandoning herself to the caress and steadying herself on the polished table in front of her.

Aneka gasps as a hand teasingly brushes her mons Venus, then she lifts her own hand to push Charlotte's fingers closer to her. I watch all this from my position on the silk brocade chez long. Sasha is busy kneeling before me finishing off a very professional French polish of my nails. She senses my own arousal, and butting her file to one side she gently begins to stroke my hardening nipples through my dress.

Cherry steps forward and unzips Anekas skirt, teasingly smiling at the now transported younger girl. Slowly, elaborately she pulls Anekas skirt down to form an inky pool at he panting girls ankles. Leaning forward, Cherry pushes out her pink tongue and runs it up her trembling pets throat. She licks the girl's neck several times, before their lips meet in a deep and obviously mutually satisfying kiss.

Aneka groans a deep "oh fuck" as the kiss breaks. She stands statue still as Cherry slips her hands inside the satin blouse and firmly tweaks the helpless girls nipples between finger and thumb.

"oh fuck, yes. Please Cherry, take me. I love you" pants her little fan.

Cherry responds by turning the girl around and bending her across the table. She spanks her firmly across her proffered, eager arse, as it wriggles provocatively inside the silky panties Anekas put on for Cherry's delight this morning.

"bless" proclaims Cherry, and slips an enquiring finger inside the knickers waistband. As she gently works her magic, Anekas completely looses control, bucking against her loved ones touch

"Fuck, Fuck yes, I'm going to come. Own me Cherry. Own me!" screams Aneka.

This, combined with the gentle kneading of my own breasts takes me to the edge. Sasha senses this and parts my legs. She deftly slips my cock out of its panties clad home just in time. I arch my back as seemingly endless waves of pleasure course through me. Wave after wave of sperm splashes across my dress, the chez long and Sashas delighted upturned face. As I come back to earth I look down to see the girl smiling up at me. Her tongue darts out to catch a glistening spot of sperm from the side of her mouth. Then, with deliberate coquettishness she dips her head, making great show of liking the chez long and my Givenchy dress clean. All the time moaning and fingering herself beneath the sea of her petticoats. All in all a delightful morning.

I sit languidly smoothing down my pretty dress when the doorbell breaks the stillness. My heart begins to quicken, for the tables are about to turn. My own true love, the lady to whom I have pledged unconditional subservience has arrived. And I only hope that I can serve her adequately... 

 

Chapter 5 - Victorias secrets

 

At the sound of the doorbell, Cherry swishes from the room to greet our visitors. She crosses the floor as if it were a catwalk, enjoying the impending sense of drama.

My drawing room falls silent for a few minutes as everybody anticipates the arrival of our revered guests. The sunlight streaming in through the French windows glistens on the parquet flooring. Seeking distraction, my eyes wander from my company to the art that graces my walls. Above the fireplace is an original painting by Tamara  de Lempicka. I love this painting – a decadent portrait of a titled lady, her frock swirling around her in clean deco lines. The steady gaze of the subject meets the viewers, imperious and cold. Lempicka clearly admired her subject, creating a composition that quickly leads the eye to a pair of proud, firm breasts, and one nipple poking erect through the gossamer fabric of the dress. At either end of the room are photographs by Helmut Newton – himself no slouch at revering the power of strong, beautiful women.

And so I await my hearts desire – a visit from my mistress, my love, and my goddess. The woman who showed me my true nature and potential, and the one person from whom I can hide no shard of my submissive nature and ungovernable yearnings. We listen as three sets of heels clack up the baronial staircase. There is a pause and the door opens. Cherry enters first, and announces our guests

"Madam, your mistress Ms Lucia, and her handmaiden Ms Gretchen".

Lucia steps imperiously into the room, She wears a beautiful silver fox fur coat and the faintest hint of a smile. My heart begins to pound at the sight of this beauty; her bronzed Italian complexion. Her noble profile – elegant cheekbones and a full pouting mouth. Her amazing eyes, provocatively kholed and smoky today. She shrugs open her coat. Its silky gold lining compliments the gold of her satin Valentino gown. Its cut tight to her Amazonian figure, hugging her full, firm breasts, flowing flat across her trim stomach, and falling across the almost impossible length of her toned smooth legs. Lucia places one foot to her side, and as her weight shifts the gown reveals a slash almost to her waist. Her leg slips provocatively into view. On her feet is a pair of six-inch stiletto Laboutins. Delicate glossy black straps of black leather criss cross her delicate feet, the heels a gleaming blood red.

Lucia says nothing for a moment, allowing me to drink in the view, a sight that truly intoxicates me. Deftly, from behind her mistress, Gretchen steps into view. Lucia, in her vanity, has chosen a handmaiden who is her perfect physical counterpart. Gretchen is a striking Teutonic blonde bombshell, with porcelain skin and a haughty manner that I know thrills my own little Aneka. Today Gretchen is dressed in her riding uniform. A crisp white silk blouse tied in a fat "pussy" bow at the neck. A black silk jacket, gleaming black riding boots, and the piece de resistance, tight white silk riding britches. Within the crotch of these, clearly defined, I see that Lucia has requested that Gretchen place a firm prosthetic cock. I notice this with some trepidation for what game Lucia is forming in her head for us to play. Lucia loves to create gender ambiguity – it turns her on to control others roles and image. It is, after all, what first brought us together. I cannot deny that as I gaze upon the taught bulge in Gretchen's britches, I feel a slight flutter of excitement in my breast. Gretchen coolly stares me down through a veil of fine lace, entirely revelling in her role as a femme fatale.

Lucia shrugs off her coat, letting it fall to the floor, and Gretchen stoops, and gracefully collects it. In turn she hands it to Cherry, and I sense that unspoken transaction of lust in their glance – two haughty misses who recognise that one must eventually succumb to the others power. Cherry holds Gretchen's stare, as the German girl takes in my maid with a proprietory stare that lingers on my girl's full, exposed cleavage.

"Oh, I see you are enjoying my little surprise for you Victoria." Says Lucia. "So, what have you been doing this morning my girl? The usual I suppose – sucking and fucking, mincing about and mooning over your maids I suppose?"

"Yes, indeed Miss. I've enjoyed myself watching Aneka be taken by Cherry. And Sasha kindly administered to my own cock most wonderfully."

"I see. Love the Givenchy dress by the way – all those little flowers in the design. You are one of natures true sissy's are you not?"

"oh yes mistress" I simper "I love the way it flows around me. And, sitting here, I love the feel of my lingerie sliding against the soft fabric. You know it always gives me a little thrill."

Lucia has trained me to disclose all my little kinks, and to present myself as both a shameless sissy, and with a polite, submissive girlish turn of phrase. She knows that by drawing such admissions from me I both revel in my true nature, the embarrassment of disclosure before others, and the submissive role that I clearly play before my goddess.

"Well now, I see you staring at my Laboutins. I suppose you would like to worship them?" asks my mistress

"please miss, that would be lovely" I gasp, and rise to my feet to join my lover.

"What the hell do you think you are doing girl" exclaims Lucia in mock outrage" Who said you may stand or walk. You will crawl over here on your hands and knees you wicked girl, and drop your eyes to the floor."

I feel colour rise in my cheeks as I obey my command. Slowly, with as much grace as I can muster, I sway across the twelve yards of floor that take me to my lovers beautiful feet. Dipping my head in reverence, I slip my tongue between my lips and with all the devotion of worship begin to lick the thin leather straps of Lucia's stilettos. Gently moving my mouth to first one foot then the other, I continue this act of joyous submission for some five wonderful minutes. I taste the bitter tang of leather upon my tongue, and feel my girlish cock swell and grow hard inside my pretty silk panties.

As I go about my work, Lucia takes the opportunity to play to her audience, telling them, not for the first time how we first met;

"He was a sweet looking boy back them of course. Quite shy, but incapable of hiding his inner femme – the way he pranced around, my god! I spotted him in a department store, lingering by the lingerie display, and you could just see the hunger in his eyes. He might have been the heir to a fortune, but this, the one thing he truly needed, and he was too weak to buy. I couldn't resist the opportunity – to take this rather pathetic creature, and create the beautiful she male I knew was just dying to come out. Ahh, my little princess, that first day. I didn't speak a word – just bought a pair of pink silky French knickers, and presented him with the gift-wrapped bag as I left the store. Whispered in his ear to follow me if he wanted to use the balls he so ironically had.

Lucia breaks off from her story for a moment.

"that's right Victoria - kiss my feet. Does it feel nice?"

I nod my head gently, and murmur an appreciative sigh of contentment.

"Now, why don't you crawl around behind my legs, so you can lick my lovely long stiletto heels? I bet you'd love that wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes please mistress Lucia" I reply, and slowly bring myself around behind my goddess. I can smell her perfume, applied deftly to the back of each knee - Lucia clearly knew she would have me at her feet before she came over today. With a flutter in my heart I go to work, slowly drawing my tongue up each exquisite heel in turn.

"Look at her ladies, Lucia laughs, she can't get enough of it. I'd bet you'd like to get on your knees and wank across my feet wouldn't you?" She asks me rhetorically. I murmur my agreement.

"Well, "Lucia adds, "much as I like having my shoes nicely polished, I think I'm going to deny you that honour for now. Please, continue with your worship." Lucia returns to her story.

"Victoria was lucky - first to meet someone who could take her in hand, and also because of the cards nature dealt her. She was skinny, little feet and hands, and a bone structure far too delicate for a chap. As a man she looked like a weedy wimp. But I knew this gave her the amazing potential to be a stunning lady boy - her destiny. And she was just sixteen - so with the proper diet and hormone tablets, it wasn't too late to sculpt her development away from broad shoulders, and instead into nice soft curves. When we left the shop I took her for a coffee. She opened the shopping bag, and actually gasped when she ran her fingers over her pretty new silky knickers."

"I decided to ask her direct questions, and I expected direct answers. Had she always known she wanted to be femme? Of course! Victoria confessed everything to me - years of pent up lust and frustration pouring out in her telling. Her obsession with silks and satins, her love of pretty dresses and soft bows. Her total fetishisation of the world of feminine finery. And how this in turn led her to a worldview that was soft, sensual and submissive. Poor Victoria. All she had ever wanted from life was the chance to prance about dressed in pretty clothes. I took her home, and made clear our arrangement. I would help her, and school her as a young lady. In turn I simply wanted her commitment to the path we were choosing for her. It was a simple bargain. That night, for the first time, she slept between silken sheets, prettily wrapped in a very feminine baby doll nightie I had lent her. Of course, to truly spur on her development I absolutely forbade any self pleasuring - the constant spur of horniness drove her to distraction, but a lack of sexual release also intensified her growing dependence on the comforts that her silky new life could offer.  From the first I ensured that her life would be a whirl of pretty silky underthings. Each bright new morning, once made up and moisturised, she would come to me with eyes flooded with expectation, and I would give her the thing she most desired. A lovely set of silky underware to try on. Each day was a new and wonderful beginning for her. That was the start – of taking him for an appointment at the hairdresser, the manicurist, the voice coach and the deportment experts. I created a lady where before there was just a boy. I insisted that even while still untransformed he could only wear the prettiest dresses, the silkiest undergarments."

" He was mine body and soul.  I remember our first day together. He begged me not to take him into town dolled up – that people would laugh, stare – or worse. I had to reassure him that even without breasts or training, at sixteen he could pass. A little make up, a little self-belief, and voila – a young girl at the edge of womanhood. I dressed him in a pair of frilly panties, a silk slip, smart white blouse and pencil skirt. I knew that the tightness of the skirt would force him to take smaller feminine steps. And at first I only risked him in flats – even though Victoria has been forbidden such unalluring footwear for years now. Victoria was well briefed: At the hairdressers he looked at the floor, but managed to blurt out his story – that he wanted to be given a haircut that would make him look like a pretty girl. The stylist laughed, but she trimmed away and gave him the most delightful little bob. It was her suggestion to dye it blonde, and to shape and bleach his eyebrows – all of which she did with great skill I must say. It was the same story at the manicurists: "please miss, I want pretty nails like the girls have" – oh, the humiliation! But this wasn't just to tease Victoria – getting him to ask aloud fro what he truly desired was a big step in getting the psychological walls of resistance that limited his potential to crumble. By the time I took Victoria to the lingerie shop, I could see the magic beginning to work – as he traced his fingers over the garments, revelling in the freedom to linger, examine and choose. What a good little pansy he was."

" we saw a doctor on Harley street – Victoria told him all about her wishes. We were prescribed powerful hormone tablets – within a week Victoria's skin was softer, her bum began to gain definition, and pert little rosebuds started to swell at her chest. Ah, how she loved to look in the mirror at her newly growing breasts, how proud she was of them! She was forever stroking them and cupping them. I think that was the big moment for her – having a nice pair of boobs to fill out her pretty dresses."

"Of course, His family broke off contact, and we took the final step –the removal of those balls – they always did look wrong when he wore a G-string. Without them, Victoria became a she male proper – a true hermaphrodite. No longer male, but never to be as fully female as the girls he so lusted after. Keeping Victoria's cock was our little gift to all the women Victoria would seek to pleasure over the coming years. When he came 'round from the op I asked him for his name. "Victoria Lovesilk" the little sissy lisped, and I knew I had him – had her – for life, You should have seen her pretty blue eyes fill up with wonder and tears when she first came before a mirror – I've rarely seen a girl so proud of her own look. She turned and twirled this way and that – our primary creative work complete."

"Within a year Victoria was strutting down Oxford street in tight silky dresses (pinks, aquas, floral – patterns, but always, always as girlish as fashion would allow.), heads turning to catch her pert breasts, her gorgeous round ass "like jello on springs" as Tony Curtis described Marilyn Monroes' walk. A smile on her pretty painted lips, and a little dancing light in her eyes. She had grace, power and beauty. Her head was high and life was one long shopping trip – no more lingering around the undie department for this one!"

"You see, I was never trying to simply create a girl. I always wanted Victoria to be special – that's why while she has such a lovely shape and feminine manner, I insist that her style of dress never makes a secret of her male origins. I love the way her cock tents her dresses when she is aroused – I love the bulge in satin knickers. I love the way men look at her with complete lust, then do a mad double take when then notice she is a mincing little lady-boy. God, THAT fucks with their heads – and Victoria's shameless about playing up to it, even if she only has eyes for girls. That's the whole fun – no real girl would be so, well, girly I feel. And I only have to look at her cock stiffening every time she slips on her panties to know that Victoria is totally, blissfully happy.. Bless."

But Lucia continues " Girls, do you know why she chose the name Victoria? Did she never tell you? Oh, it's priceless! It's the syllables you see. She admitted to me that when she made a partner come, she loved to here the full set of syllables – you know, "Ah Ah Vic-Tor-I-Ahhhhhhhhhh" Lucia mimics. She thought it was so feminine, to have such a long name like that. How self-obsessed can a girl get? I mean, you think she's focussing on making you come, and all the time the slut's just wanting you to cry out her pretty little name!"

From my position at Lucia's ankles, I hear my maids giggle. The humiliation of this secret revealed, as my ass juts into the air, my dress barely covering my cheeks, and my mouth worships my lover's shoes, thrills me to my core.

"so girls" Lucia asks" would you like to take a little revenge on your mistress for her awful self-obsession? The silly bitch deserves a little punishment wouldn't you say? How about five spanks on her ass each – one for every syllable of her name?"

Now my cock is twitching – to be spanked by my own maids – such delicious humiliation. I sigh, and cannot help but wriggle my bottom slightly in anticipation.

"Look at the slut – she's gagging for it" laughs Lucia.

The girls gather around me as I prop myself up on all fours. Charlotte lifts my pretty dress, and glides my panties down to my knees.. I love her for this – her dignified silence, her tending to her mistresses needs. Later, I promise myself, I will devote an hour to pleasuring her sweet cunt with my tongue, as reward for this act. She can be the madam and I her humble maid.

Such sweet thoughts are cast away as Cherry takes her place behind me, lowers herself to her knees, and begins her part in my richly deserved spanking. I brace myself against the impending exquisite pleasure and pain. Cherry slaps me hard across the bottom once

"vic", twice "or" thrice "I" and for a forth time "ahhhhhhhhh" she giggles. The spanks leave me tingling and slightly sore. I make an effort to avoid gasping.

"thank you Cherry" I whisper.

Next its Charlottes turn. With each slap of her hand she simply proclaims "Mτn Amour". I feel my eyes begin to fill with tears – of both pain and happiness. Here I am, stripped of all artifice, as I truly wish to be – a girlish, silly plaything for womankind. My destiny, and my calling. The large room echos only to the sound of hand on flesh.

Sasha comes next. She treats me to three playful light slaps, but gives me a stinging final blow that I arch my arse into.

"oh thank you Sasha" I gasp "thank you all. I richly deserve the spankings, and I live only to be corrected by angels such as you." I feel compelled, if it wasn't already obvious, to abase myself with further honesty

"I love to take the discipline you so kindly give me. I'm silly, and vain, and just the kind of slut who loves to be put in her place. Thank you for showing me all this."

My maids giggle, and as one coo over my prostrate behind, bestowing teasing kisses and caresses on my glowing cheeks. They know that this little piece of role-play will only serve to make their employ all the more appreciated by their madam.

I raise myself to my shaking knees, smooth down my frock, toss my locks back into place, and gaze hopefully up at my mistress. She wordlessly places a hand behind my head, and draws my face to the folds of her golden silk dress. I happily nuzzle against the folds of soft material that cover her firm belly. Punishment over, Lucia is prepared to take a softer line.

"there there my pretty pet" she murmurs "Mummy's here. Mummy loves her little pet". Lucia knows that I delight in being the recipient of such baby talk. That she is my everything – lover, teacher, muse, inspiration, and yes, even mother figure. I close my eyes and feel the lovely embracing closeness of my honest, wonderful relationship with this dream woman. My cock, still hard after the spanking, pushes against my dress, nagging for relief, and nudging against Lucia's leg.

"Now young lady" teases Lucia "Gretchen has a little something she wants to share with you. Would you like that?"

 

Chapter 5. Dressing for Gretchen.

 

I hungrily eye up the sexy bulge in Gretchens satin riding britches. This will be a test for me - to prove to Lucia just what a little sissy I can be - but with the unthreatening context that i am only being asked to perform an act of worship on a beautiful handmaids prosthetic cock. I cannot deny it - this kinky piece of role play has me very aroused.

I begin to make my way accross the floor to Gretchen on my knees, but Lucia brings me to a halt.

"silly girl, no one wants a girl to pleasure them with smudged lipstick and a dress they have been wearing all day. Go upstairs with Cherry and doll yourself up. I dont just want to see you giving Gretchen head - I expect a proper performance!"

At this my heart leaps - to play dress up AND to act out a role for my mistress is beyond my most optimistic wishes.

Cherry and I leave the room and take the stairs to my dressing chambers - as soon as the door is closed behind us we disolve into girlish giggles

" God Victoria, luck you - I'd love to be on my knees before that one" laughs Cherry. "shes stunning and she knows it - just my type!"

"I know Cherry - I have to say, I've always wanted the excuse to get close to her. Let's hope I'm up to the job. Now, i feel a bit battered and bruised from this mornings play - please will you give me a nice pampering bath?"

" My pleasure" replies Cherry - the minx knows its probably going to end up with us both having a lovely time. Cherry slips the Givenchy dress over my head, unhooks my bra and dips to slide my silky panties down my smooth legs, letting her fingers linger teasingly for a moment. She runs me a deepd bath full of scented bubbling foam, and I step in. I slip into the water and feel a deep sense of relaxation. Cherry first washes my hair through, then scrubs my arms, legs and back

"saving the nicest 'till last" She jokes. She soaps up her sponge and gently smooths it accross my breasts, smiling as both nipples grow hard and poke through the suds she is lathering me in. I look down shyly, and happily take each nipple between finger and thumb.Sighing, I play with myself as Cherry plunges her arm beneath the water and curls her manicured fingers around my stiff cock.

"Oh that's nice Cherry" I sigh, and flirtatiously splash a little water from the batch across Cherrys Gucci clad bossom. The water makes the fabric cling to her beautiful pointed breasts. Keeping eye contact with me, and all the while massaging my prick, Cherry uses her other hand to cup her left breast. Dipping her head, she lifts her hard nipple to her mouth, and draws her tongue along accross the silky material of her dress.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2008 by Ms Victoria Lovesilk.All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.