Sissy Day Care
by Christina Shelly
Chapter One: A She Forever
I was pulled from the bed sometime before dawn by my stepmother and her two daughters. Hung over, naked and thoroughly disoriented, I was helpless as they quickly bound my legs and arms and then gagged me. They used black nylon stockings to tether my limbs and a pair of black silk panties held in place with a strip of silver duct tape to silence my confused protests. Within a few terrible seconds I was immobilised face down before my stepmother's gleaming stiletto heeled court shoes. I squealed furiously, both terrified and angry. They responded with contemptuous laughter.
'Hood him. Then bring him down to the living room,' my stepmother ordered.
The lovely, sexy shoes disappeared and I was left at the mercy of my step sisters. Almost immediately, a pair of elegant but strong hands slipped under my arms and pulled me roughly into a sitting position. I cried furiously into the fat gag and then received a hard slap to my left cheek.
'Shut up!' Anita, my older stepsister, snapped.
My head rung like a bell and tears filled my eyes. Then Angeline, Anita's junior by two years, pulled a sheer black nylon stocking down over my head, plunging me into a strange universe of scented shadows. What was happening to me!? Before I could hazard an answer to this question, another black nylon stocking was used to blindfold me. I was then hauled up to my tethered feet and thrown like a sack of corn over Anita's broad, powerful shoulders.
In a few minutes, I was once again face down on the floor, this time, judging from the feel of the soft, deep carpet, in the living room.
'Get the car ready, Angie. I want to be there by seven.'
I moaned into the panty gag, enclosed in an awful darkness, and for the first time became aware of my naked form. A terrible sense of embarrassment mingled with my fear. The powerful, rose tinted aroma of my stepmother's perfume tickled my desperately flaring nostrils and memories of her beauty and my own terrible secret filled my tormented, panic stricken mind. Then my sex, up until this point shrivelled with fear, began to stiffen. My blushes were hidden by the stocking hood, but the horror that washed over my tethered form as I struggled to turn onto my stomach and hide this bizarre manifestation was as apparent as the humiliating erection.
'There's no point in trying to cover your self up, Peter. I can see what's happening. And I know all about your dirty little secret. I've known for ages.'
I froze with a savage embarrassment at my stepmother's harsh, shocking words. In an act of desperate defence, I squealed with hypocritical outrage and she burst out laughing.
'It was always just a matter of time,' she continued. 'While your father was alive, I put up with your… inclinations. They were harmless enough, and in a way demonstrated a form of love. But now…well, Herbert is dead and I don't have to support you; now we don't have to put up with a lazy, stupid young man wasting our time and space. I'm afraid the days of indifference to everything and everyone are over. As are your little trips to my underwear draw.'
Yes: she knew; and the fact that she knew filled me with a sick dread.
My father had been dead less than a month. He had been ill for over a year, and my stepmother mother had cared for him with genuine love. Her grown up daughters from her first marriage had become regular visitors and I had withdrawn to my room, unable to face the responsibility of care or the passing of the one human being who had not been alienated by my wayward behaviour. I was eighteen. I had failed my A levels and spent the summer either drunk or asleep. And in the moments when there was only my semi-comatose father and myself in the house, I had slipped into the room that my stepmother had slept in for the past twelve months and indulged an increasingly irresistible fetish for her under things. Indeed, in the last few months of my father's life, it is safe to say that my only pleasures were drinking in my room and dressing up in my step mother's underwear; dressing up and slowly masturbating myself to dark, violent orgasms driven by fantasies of this stunningly beautiful, haughty woman.
To understand my helpless desire, it is perhaps helpful to describe my stepmother. Her long, jet hair is almost always worn in a tight, gleaming bun held in place by a diamond clasp. Her dark brown eyes are lit with a steely determination. Her full, almost helplessly sensual lips are painted blood red on most days. Yes, she is a truly impressive and erotic figure. On the day I was dragged so brutally from my bed, she was 45. Now, a year since my very radical transformation, she is an equally stunning 46. She is just over five feet eleven inches tall; yet, despite her impressive height, she insists on wearing at least three-inch stiletto heeled court shoes, normally of black patent leather. As I am a little over five feet six inches, she has always appeared a goddess, a woman to be looked up to in more ways than one! Despite her maturity, she has the voluptuous figure of a woman twenty years younger, a figure she protects with a regime of regular exercise and very careful diet, a regime rooted in her always impressive and frequently frightening self-discipline. Her height and firm, upright posture allow her to carry a considerable, perfectly shaped 40-inch bosom with ease. Her penchant for tight nylon sweaters and sheer, second-skin silk blouses ensure this spectacular chest is always very effectively (and quite deliberately) displayed. A collection of surprisingly short skirts continue the theme of deliberate and careful display of a body that deserves to be seen at every opportunity. Normally black or black/white check, never quite mini, but always erotically revealing, these teasing skirts ensure the beautiful revelation of long, exquisitely formed legs that are constantly wrapped in expensive and very sheer black nylon. Tight, as well as short, they also draw attention in a most provocative and arousing way to her slightly plump but, given her height, still perfectly proportioned backside.
My stepmother is a vision of mature physical beauty that has tormented me since her arrival in my father's life. A gorgeous, fierce-some woman, a woman who on that fateful morning was determined to deal in a very final and permanent way with her lazy, wayward stepson!
As I struggled to hide my helplessly rampant manhood, I suddenly felt a body move very close to my own, tightly tethered form. The sweet, powerful rose perfume that began to torment my fear flared nostrils made it clear my imperial stepmother was leaning over me. Then, to my horror and astonishment, I felt fingernails, sharp, hard fingernails, brush against the hot, hard length of my sex. I squealed into the panty gag and tried to pull away. But then she took a very firm hold of the base of my sex and my squeals raised a terrified octave.
'Calm down,' she whispered, a surprisingly maternal tone entering her deep, always erotic voice.
Moaning into the fat panty gag, the most intimately tastes of this incredible woman filling my stretched and privileged mouth, I tried to relax my fear-tensed form.
'If you do as I say, if you surrender to the fate I have prepared for you, all your secret dreams will come true, my love.'
Then something very soft touched the bulging head of my hot, rigid sex. I squealed with fear and excitement equally mixed and this teasing softness began to spread over my sex. Very soon it became apparent that my amazing, beautiful step-mother was very carefully and teasingly pulling a sheer, heavily scented black nylon stocking over my wildly aroused penis.
And within micro-seconds, I was gain squealing with a terrible, bottomless sexual pleasure. I wiggled helplessly in my tight, utterly inescapable bonds and pleaded for mercy from this pleasure that was so great that it threatened to transform into a furious pain of unbearable frustration. My step-mother rested a firm, strong hand on my thigh to hold me in position and then firmly pulled the stocking over my aching, straining testicles.
'There, there, my pretty little baby,' she whispered, as she then used some unknown cording to tie the stocking tightly in place around my scrotum.
Then the lovely, powerful perfume was gone and I knew she had risen to her splendid, high heeled feet. I felt tears of terrible frustration leak from my wide, sex shocked eyes through the nylon stocking hood and the blindfold. I uttered well-gagged pleas for mercy and release. I also took the strangest and darkest pleasure in my tight and perverse bondage. This one moment of erotic kindness opened the flood gates of my long suppressed sexual need and I found myself quickly performing a bizarre wiggle ballet accompanied by a song of embarrassing sissy squeals.
'Bag him up and put him in the car.'
My mother's voice, stern and unforgiving once more, filled the room, and a wave of sobering fear washed over me. I fell still and silent, and soon I sensed my wicked, beautiful step-sisters close by.
Then a thick, soft fabric was being drawn over my feet and up my legs. I moaned with fear and heard the girls laugh.
'This isn't even the beginning, you dirty little slut,' Anita snapped.
Then a sudden, hard slap was administered to my left thigh and I squealed with shock and pain. After more laughter, the material was drawn further up my legs and I realised I was being imprisoned inside one of the extra-large sleeping bags that were used by my sisters in their frequent camping trips. These fit, firm, beautiful young women were both keen hill climbers and pot-holers, taking their fierce athleticism from their beautiful mother, and now I was being cocooned in one of the very necessary tools of their weekend trips to various remote parts of the United Kingdom!
Eventually, the bag was pulled up over the entirety of my body and then my head. Then it was zipped up and I was very effectively imprisoned in a soft nylon tomb. I was thus deaf, dumb and blind - sentenced to a strange, terrifying sensory depravation. And this, as Anita had made so cruelly clear, was hardly the beginning of my strange ordeal!
As soon as I was tightly imprisoned, strong hands grabbed the bag and I was pulled upward. Locked in my sisters' firm embrace, I was then carried from the room and down the ground floor corridor towards the rear of the house. A few moments later I was thrown roughly into a small confined space and a loud thunk indicated that I had been locked in the boot of my mother's new Mercedes. A few seconds later, the motor purred easily into life. I heard the vibration of doors being closed then there was only the low hum of the engine and the sound of my own rapidly beating heart!
Then there was movement. In a few moments we had turned onto the country lane that led up to the main road leading to the town and beyond.
I had no idea where we were going or why. My initial terror had been subdued by my mother's deeply erotic ministrations, and my sex stretched angrily and desperately against the tight, teasing embrace of the stocking. The taste of my step-mother and the memory of her recent, so intimate and promising caresses flooded my mind with a million bizarre possibilities. But the more I contemplated what lay ahead, the more worried I became.
At first, I had assumed the bondage to be some kind of weird and immediate punishment. But now it was clear that it was merely packaging. I was being prepared for a mysterious and frightening journey…to where?
As the car moved out onto the main road and its speed increased considerably, I tried to think rationally, to contemplate coolly and calmly what was happening to me. Yet even as I struggled to work out the true nature of my fate, I was overwhelmed by intense sexual feelings. My sex was rock hard, inspired by the teasing caress of the stocking, the powerful taste of my step-mother's sex, her gentle words and hands and a thousand memories of her and her two gorgeous daughters. Try as I might, my mind seemed to be unable to focus on the challenge of my future. Thoughts of elegant, black nylon sheathed legs, of perfectly formed breasts, of the highest heels, and soft, blood red lips, and dark, sensual eyes flooded my already perverse imagination. Yes, it was all far too much and for a few terrible moments I was sure I would ejaculate violently into the stocking. But the way my step-mother had secured the cording seemed to make full and final erection impossible.
At first I thought the journey would be a long and testing one, but after only 20 or 30 minutes the car turned off the main road and pulled to a halt on what felt like a bumpy gravel path. After a few seconds the car began to move gain, this time down what felt like an even bumpier country track. The car's superb suspension made the ride far less uncomfortable than it might have been, and after five more minutes, the elegant, expensive vehicle again drew to a halt. Doors opened and closed. The boot was opened. I could hear muffled voices. Then I was hauled up out of the boot and once again I was being carried.
I was silent and very frightened. For some reason, I found myself imagining the very worst: I had been taken into the heart of the thick woodland that surrounded the town near the family home, here to be quietly disposed of!
But then I was aware in some strange way that we were inside a form of dwelling, that I was being carried down a corridor and then into a room, into a large, echo plagued room in a large and possibly very old house.
I was placed on a hard surface. I remained still, quite terrified. Then more hands were upon me and the bag that was my prison was being unzipped. Thanks to the blindfold and the hood, I could see nothing, but immediately the voices were clear. The voices of women: my mother and another person, a stranger.
'How old is he?'
The voice was hard, cool and foreign.
My mother's voice, calm, indifferent.
'He looks younger.'
'He's a little under-developed. Naturally…petite.'
'Yes, I can see that. But that will help us. There is already a distinct femininity.'
The word "femininity" filled my pounding heart with a terrible dread. I remembered distinctly feminine references and my mother's use of the word "transformation". What were these women planning for me!?
Then there were more hands upon my body. The blindfold was removed and the stocking hood pulled very roughly and quickly from my head.
I gasped into the gag as my whole being was suddenly plunged in an all-pervasive and utterly blinding white light. It took nearly a minute for me to be able to begin to make out my surroundings, and what I eventually saw inspired a total and terrible fear.
I was on a table, a white marble, oblong table placed near the centre of a large white tiled room, a room that resembled a huge operating theatre.
Standing immediately before me there were four women. My step-mother was one of them. Next to her was an older woman with very striking grey streaked black hair bound in a tight bun with a very ornate diamond and steel clasp. She was dressed in a tight white sweater and a long black skirt (with a very thick black leather belt). Her hard, grey eyes possessed a harsh intensity that immediately told me she was in charge of this strange, frightening place.
Standing next to her were two younger women, a tall blonde and a shorter, plumper red head. Both were perhaps in their early to mid-twenties and dressed in exactly the same and very striking manner: a very tight white sweater (similar to that worn by the older woman), a black micro-mini-skirt, sheer black nylon tights and high-heeled, black patent leather court shoes. The blonde wore her hair in a pretty ponytail, while the red head preferred a loser bun held in place by a black wooden clasp. They were both very beautiful, with figures that easily justified the revealing and highly erotic uniform. As they were standing a little further back from the table, it was possible for me to see their full, very impressive forms and feel a powerful and highly embarrassing sexual thrill.
I also noticed that each of the three women wore a gleaming pink, rose-shaped broach over their left breasts.
'I am Lillian Stroheim,' the older woman announced, beholding me with a stern, soul crushing gaze. 'And you are in the Pink Rose Sissy Day Care Centre.'
I looked at her in awe, amazement and utter terror. I moaned fearfully in the panty gag and tried to avoid staring directly at her very impressive bosom, the word "sissy" ringing in my mind like a bell of utter and inescapable doom.
'Today,' she continued, her Northern European accent deep, dark and filled with the terrible secrets of my unclear fate, 'you will begin your induction training as a Pink Rose baby maid and sissy slave. During the next four weeks you will train in permanent residence at the centre. At the end of this period, you will be formally registered as one of our twenty day care sissies and returned to the care of your loving mother and sisters. You will spend 9 hours each weekday undergoing further training and physical transformation. The training day will be 8.00am to 5.00pm, Monday to Friday. Evenings and weekends will be spent at home.'
I listened to her in a state of petrified astonishment, to this talk of training and sissies and "baby maids". I was to become a "baby maid"? What on earth was that!? To my horror, Ms Stroheim quickly explained.
'The feminisation process will begin immediately. Your body will undergo the core preliminary preparations. Then you will be made up and dressed. Then you will be placed in the novice nursery with two other new entrants, who arrived yesterday evening. After breakfast and the first round of hormone injections, you will begin your induction training.'
The word that said it all: "feminisation". My eyes widened with a new, all pervasive terror at its husky, cruel utterance, and by the time Ms Stroheim had completed her terrible revelations, I was squealing furiously into the pungent, inescapable panty gag and wriggling angrily on the cool surface of the marble table, my tightly stockinged sex, still embarrassingly erect, swinging to and throw in an absurd and vaguely lurid manner, my always small, feminine backside performing a ballet of frightened wiggles. Already, I was on the awful pathway, already I was trapped in the straight jacket of femininity. I look at my beautiful, buxom step-mother with tear soaked, terror-filled eyes. Yes, she knew all my secrets: my helpless desire for her and, more importantly, for the trappings of her splendid femininity. She had seen into my soul and extracted a desire that was now to be fully exposed and moulded in this strange and awful academy of…feminisation.
The two younger women stepped forward. As they grabbed my tethered form, I found myself wondering what had become of Anita and Angeline. I had assumed they had travelled in the car with my step-mother. But now it was unclear whether they were in the building or still at home.
The two young women were surprisingly strong. As they hauled me off the table, their powerful, sandalwood scented perfume washed over my naked, bound body and the softness of their tight sweaters added to a general and very considerable physical teasing that, even in this terrible situation, ensured I remained very hard and significantly flustered!
I yelped with fear as I was carried only a few feet and then made to stand precariously upright. Hands worked free the stockings binding my arms and legs and suddenly I was free of bondage. My first thought was to try and rush from the room, but even as this thought turned to a physical urge, the young women were upon me, one grasping an arm, the other a leg. And it was only then, as the blonde pulled my arm above my head, and the redhead pulled my leg out at a 45 degree angle to the rest of my body, that I began to understand what was about to happen. For as I looked down at the white tiled floor, I saw that I was standing directly over a silver coloured, circular grill - a drain cover. The tiles sloped inward slightly from points marked by two metal bolts fixed to the floor, attached to which were two leather shackles, one positioned a few inches from each of my feet. And it was into the left shackle that my left foot was now being forced. And it was into a shackle attached to a long metal bar, which was itself attached to the ceiling by two long silver chains, that my right wrist was now being attached, a bar only a foot or so above my head, and which the tall blonde reached with hardly an effort.
Then my right foot and left wrist were secured and, as the two lovely young females stepped back to consider their kinky labours, I found myself forced into the shape of a loose "X". I moaned into the gag and stared at them with pleading, desperate eyes, my nylon sheathed sex rising up before me like a confession of the darkest masochistic desire. And, here, I knew, was the simple, terrible truth.
I looked over at my stepmother and the mysterious Ms Stroheim. I could now see that her long black skirt covered virtually the whole of her lower body, revealing only exquisitely shaped, black nylon sheathed ankles and feet resting in a pair of black patent leather court shoes with cruel, testing 5 inch heels!
In my stepmother's eyes there was a terrible, blunt cruelty that betrayed the sadistic pleasure she was taking in my fate. I looked at her and realised how utterly gorgeous she was and how much, despite everything, I wanted her. Then I remembered her soft, teasing words as a lay bound and tightly gagged beneath her splendid form, her wondrous perfume washing over my naked, tortured body. The promise of making all my dreams come true, the whispered promise as she gently slid the devastatingly arousing scented black stocking over my boiling, desperate cock.
The blonde had now walked over to the far wall. I watched as she pressed a large red button set on a steel panel and then heard a strange electrical noise above my head. Suddenly the bar was being pulled upward by moving chains and I was going with it. Indeed, in a few seconds, I found that the loose "X" had been pulled uncomfortably tight and I was stretched out on an invisible vertical rack, totally helpless and totally exposed.
Tears of discomfort and fear trickled from eyes and Ms Stroheim's cruel smile widened. The blonde returned to my stretched, intimately displayed form and then roughly pulled the duct tape from my lips. I squealed with pain and outrage. Then the panties were pulled from my mouth. For a few heavenly seconds I was ungagged. I managed to direct a pathetic "please" at my stepmother, before the blonde stuffed what appeared and felt like a very large circular pink sponge into my mouth. It's heavy, soapy scent induced an immediately urge to vomit and I squealed more high-pitched, helplessly girlish pleas for mercy before the sponge, as if reacting to the remaining dampness in my mouth, began to expand. Suddenly every intimate crevice of my mouth was filled and my tongue was pressed flat against the base of my mouth. I was now unable even to squeak my outrage and fear, and, thanks to the tight fit, unable to force this wicked yet strangely soft intruder from my mouth.
Then I was returned to the terrible space between heaven and hell that was the torment of my painfully vulnerable sex. The redhead moved very close to me, a teasing smile lighting up her very pretty face.
'I bet you love having your willy all wrapped up in soft nylon, babikins,' she whispered, her moist, blood red lips glistening in the harsh electric light of the room.
I met her emerald-eyed gaze and knew there was nothing I could do to resist whatever torture she had planned. The sense of helplessness was soul-destroying. I felt the already strained muscles in my arms and legs tense with instinctive fear as she stepped forward and began very gently to untie the ribbon binding my scrotum. I screamed with unbearable pleasure, a scream that was transformed into the slightest whimper by the fiendish sponge gag.
Then, very slowly, and with her piecing eyes never leaving mine, she began to remove the stocking. I tried to buck and pull away from her devilish, expert hands, but I was pulled painfully rigid, and even the slightest movement was impossible.
Then, with one swift movement, the stocking was free and I was fully and terribly exposed to this gathering of mysterious and terrifying females. And as soon as the sticking was cast off, the blonde stepped forward, now armed with what appeared to be a large, white aerosol can. My eyes moved fearfully from the can to her splendid, ample breasts, which were rising and falling rapidly beneath the tight white sweater. She was stunningly beautiful, and her scented presence only made my helpless and deeply ambivalent sexual excitement so much worse.
As my eyes moved from her breasts to the perfect curves of long, black nylon sheathed legs, she pressed the black button on the top of the aerosol and a jet of thick pink cream suddenly spurted across my chest. I tensed as the cold cream was sprayed over the entire upper half of my body, then over my pubes and sex and down my legs. Even my arms and the leather shackles were covered. And within a few minutes I was entombed from the tips of my toes to my finger nails in this odd, very thick cream, which stank of a mixture of roses and turpentine.
The blonde made great play of ensuring that a large quantity of the pink foam was aimed directly at my tightly stretched buttocks and even into my back passage. I squealed uselessly as this particularly unpleasant invasion occurred, but even as I unleashed my pathetic protests, there was something deep inside me that found this bizarre humiliation terribly exciting.
Once my body was covered, the blonde pulled a pair of pink shaped swimming goggles over my head to cover my eyes. I tried to resist the latest bizarre and frightening intervention, but she held my head with a very powerful free arm and then slapped my face with a terrible, angry force once the goggles were positioned.
Reeling from this assault, I was helpless to resist what happened next: the submersion of my entire head, including my face, in a layer of the foam. As the pink cream covered the goggles I squealed for a mercy I knew would never come.
Then there was silence, an expectant and deeply troubling silence. I had been totally enveloped in the cream. Every inch of me, including my hair, was smothered. I was held suspended and cocooned. And then there was a sudden and awful change.
Within a few seconds the cool cream seemed to heat up. A strange, deeply irritating tingling began to spread over my expertly restrained form, a tingling that quickly increased in power and eventually mutated into a distinct burning sensation. I tried to squeal louder and managed to produce only the faintest whimper of utter despair and terror. I struggled with all my somewhat limited might against the irresistible shackles that so very effectively held me firm and a mind crushing panic enveloped my mind. Tears of horror flooded from my goggled eyes and the sound of female laughter echoed around the large, tiled room. I cursed these cruel, perverse women. Did my crimes of indifference, laziness and helpless fetishism deserve this elaborate and awful punishment?
Then another shocking development. As the heat increased to such a level that I was sure my skin would soon begin to fry, a heart-stopping jet of cold water struck my chest. Then it was systematically criss-crossing my body and, in the process, washing the thick, pink foam from my tenderised body. I was filled with an almost unbearable sense of absolute relief. The water was now moving around me, over my back, between my buttocks (a teasingly prolonged moment of semi-erotic cleansing), over my legs and arms and then over my head. In a few minutes I was viewing my cruel captors through waterlogged goggles and the painful heat was only a terrible, fleeting memory.
Yet as the water and the discarded cream trickled off my body, I felt something odd run down my back and face. Then a thick clump of hair became entangled in my goggles. Then I realised what the cream had done to my body, and especially my hair, and I let out another ultra-muffled squeal of horror.
'The cream removes all body hair quickly and very effectively,' Ms Stroheim explained. 'And the removal is permanent. Thus our sissies skins are kept silky smooth at all times.'
Too horrified to protest or question, my head lowered in a deep and horrible shame, I offered no resistance as the blonde removed the goggles. I stared down at my still hard sex and saw a strange, babified sex shorn of all pubic hair. I also saw that the few hairs on my slight, boyish chest had also disappeared. In their place was skin that had turned a strange light pink, a skin that now seemed devoid of any mark or blemish, a strangely fresh and new skin - the skin of a baby maid.
I watched the water and my hair swirl around and disappear into the silver grill of the drain directly beneath my tormented, stretched body and felt as if my very masculinity was being flushed away forever.
My next ordeal was a return to penis bondage, but of a distinctly more intricate and perverse kind; and it was once again managed by the cruel-eyed redhead, her smile now widened by my recent denuding. She stepped forward as the blonde returned a long, pink coloured hose pipe to a circular metal rack held beneath the marble table. In her left hand, the redhead held what looked like the finger of a glove, a long prink tube made from what appeared to be rubber. As she positioned herself within a few inches of my very hard and exposed sex, she looked up at me with cruel emerald eyes.
'Now, stay very still, babikins. We don't want to have to remove your naughty little man just yet, but we do need to keep it under control.'
I looked down in horror and once again unleashed a series of pointless and extremely well muffled squeals. Yet, despite these renewed protests, I tried to keep as still as possible as the redhead very gently began to slip the glove over my hard, hungry sex.
Tears of frustration and a terrible, dark pleasure trickled from my wide eyes as the glove's very soft rubber body edged up my boiling sex.
'Don't get carried away now, babikins,' the redhead whispered, her eyes fixed firmly on her kinky labours. 'If you come, I'm afraid you'll find yourself minus cock and balls by lunch time.'
Her threat, which I had no reason to doubt, inspired silence, stillness and a desperately hard effort to concentrate on the colour of the ceiling tiles.
The glove was slipped over the full length of my cock and then positioned very carefully over my bulging, crimson balls. As it snapped into place, I sensed a very pleasant but also very robust constriction.
'The restrainer allows virtually full erection,' Ms Stroheim explained to my stepmother, but restricts the expansion required for ejaculation.'
My stepmother nodded and smiled. 'What an excellent idea.'
Then she looked directly into my eyes and I felt a helpless sexual charge spread across my tormented body.
By this time the blonde had also stepped into my field of vision, and what she held before me inspired a genuine and total horror. For in her elegant hands was a long, thick dildo, or at least what appeared to be a dildo!
'The plugging and subsequent training of the back passage is an essential part of a sissy's education,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'The anal vibrator allows both stimulation and punishment. Thanks to tiny electrical cells built into its rubber walls, it is remote controllable. Also, it is hollow, to assist the daily enema regime and the recycling of waste matter.'
As my step-mother's lovely, wicked smile widened, the blonde held the vibrator closer, to ensure me a full, teasing view. It was made from some form of very hard pink rubber and, despite its curved, phallic shape, was, as Ms Stroheim had noted, hollow.
The blonde then disappeared behind me and my anal passage tensed instinctively. Yet the first part of the formal intrusion began not with the vibrator, but with an injection. As the blonde took up some mysterious position behind me, the redhead again stepped forward, this time armed with a large and very threatening syringe.
'The injection will ensure a prolonged relaxation of the sphincter muscle. Over the next month, special treatments will ensure a permanent relaxing.'
The redhead inserted the syringe deep into my left thigh and I squealed with a mixture of outrage and utter terror. Her smile widened as my humiliation and fear reached their most extreme. I was in the hands of truly wicked women. Yet even as the cruel needle punctured my pink, silken skin, my erection strained even harder against it ingenious and completely unforgiving restraint.
Then, suddenly, I felt my body collapse beneath me. It felt as if every muscle had suddenly turned to jelly. I slumped forward and was sure I was about to loose consciousness. However, after a few seconds, I was able to pull my head back up and as I did so felt hands gently parting my buttocks. Then there was a finger inside me, a damp finger that pushed deep into my darkest passage, a finger spreading a layer of some cool gel over the walls of my anus. Then the finger was pulled out and something cold and hard replaced it. All of this happened as if it were happening to someone else. My arse felt detached from the rest of my body; and when the vibrator was pushed deeper into it, it felt like a pencil being pushed into dough.
Eventually the effort to insert the vibrator became greater. I sensed the release of physical energy, the expenditure of human effort. Then there was a sudden shift forward and the vibrator seemed to lodge deep inside me.
'Take him down and prepare the body paint.'
Ms Stroheim's words sounded as if spoken underwater. The chains were lowered and I was released from the shackles. I immediately collapsed forward into the arms of the redhead and the blonde and had to be carried back to the white marble table, where I was laid out upon a white rubber mat.
Here, I was subject to perhaps the most bizarre and worrying part of my ordeal so far; for as soon as I was set out on my back, my body not my own, the blonde revealed yet another white aerosol can. Yet this one released a fine, warm and snow white coloured spray which turned out to be silk-finish paint. This was directed across my exposed torso for at least five minutes. Then she set to work on my thighs and legs. As she did so, the redhead used a very soft white haired brush to spread the paint across my body in a much more consistent and detailed manner, ensuring every inch of skin was properly and fully covered.
'The body paint is actually a form of industrial dye that has been specially enhanced to seal with human skin. It is non-toxic and extremely robust. It will allow the skin to breathe and sweat in the normal way while remaining resistant to normal removal techniques.'
Ms Stroheim's sinister words echoed through my head as I was turned onto my back. The spraying and brushing then continued. Soon after, the goggles were reapplied to my face and my face and shaven head were also covered. Then the goggles were removed and the redhead carefully "coloured in" the space around my eyes and my eye lids.
Within 20 minutes, I was completed covered in a suit of white body paint. Every centimetre of
my body had been expertly sealed. I looked up into white electric light and felt tears trickle down alabaster cheeks. I moaned into the sponge gag, and then, still face down, I felt my body being pulled along the table and my legs parted.
'Incredible,' I heard my mother say, her voice hoarse, excited.
I remembered the taste of her panties and felt my cock press angrily into the rubber mat.
Then hands were again reaching down between my buttocks.
'We begin and subsequently sustain the recycling process with enemas,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'We use a special medical soap and warm water, mixed with a vitamin cream and sterilisation agent.'
Some thing, some appropriately formed object, was then slotted into the hollow frame of the vibrator. It was pushed with vigour beyond the vibrator and deep inside me. I moaned with genuine pain as it seemed to slip into the very heart of my bowel, but found the earlier immobilising injection made any resistance utterly impossible.
Then there was a liquid warmth inside me. Some thick, warm liquid was flowing through the vibrator and into my bowel. I was being given an enema!
I tried to position my head to view the contraption that was so wickedly filling my gut, but only the slightest movement was possible.
Soon, I felt a strange and uncomfortable expansion of my bowel and an embarrassing gaseous gurgling began to fill the room. The women laughed and I sobbed. When would this dreadful and utterly perverse humiliation end!?
The answer seemed to be: never; for as soon as my bowel appeared about to explode with the pressure of the thick liquid that had been pumped into it, there was more fiddling with my rear.
'The enema probe is also hollow and will remain in place within the vibrator,' Ms Stroheim explained. 'It has a control value that a can allow or prevent the flow of liquid from the bowel into the mobile Recycler.'
Then, my bowel a tightly-stretched balloon, I was pulled off the table and hauled over to a corner of the room previously unnoticed. Here, I was confronted with an elegant pink mahogany dressing table, beneath which was a white backed stool, and, beside the table, a mobile hairdressing table.
On the dressing table was a collection make-up, perfumes, brushes and a large plastic wig stand over which was stretched a wig of some kind that was currently covered by a white silk sheet. I stared at this latest manifestation of my terrible fate and felt a sickening sense of inescapable doom wash over me, followed by a cool stream of absolute terror.
Attached to the dressing table was a large, oval, wood framed mirror, and although I was not at first made to sit on the stool, I was able to see a strange, snow white form, just a torso really, but enough to indicate the true extent of my terrible transformation.
My stomach churned and the huge amount of liquid in my gut pressed against the probe. Every inch of my being wished to evacuate this grim material from my body, yet, thanks to the perverse imagination of my captors, release was, in so many ways, impossible.
I was held upright by the two younger women and was aware of my stepmother and Ms Stroheim standing very close by.
'We will start with the body shaper.'
As the harsh voice of Ms Stroheim rang in my head, the blonde took a firmer grip of me and the redhead, obeying Ms Stroheim's instruction, tottered on her cruel stiletto heels to what looked like a secret doorway in the wall. At first sight merely a slight rectangular outline drawn on the wall, the door was quickly revealed to be an entrance to a large walk in closet. And it was from this dark room that the beautiful, buxom young woman extracted "the body shaper".
She held it before me with a smile of pure sadistic glee. I found myself staring at what appeared to be a pink rubber basque, a device designed to cover the male torso and make it female, a trick accomplished by ingenious and disturbing padding.
Fitted to the chest area were two large bra cups fitted with very impressive and convincing padding. The waist area seemed fearfully tight and there was more padding at the hips and backside. There seemed to be two button sealed flaps, one at the front and one at the year, both positioned towards the base of the torso. Then there was the transparent rubber tubing; one thick length that ran around the slender waist, and another more slender length that ran from the waist tube, up the front of the shaper and between the bra cups.
'Each bra cup is a sealed rubber chamber filled with silicon. This produces a highly convincing effect in terms of both weight and presentation. It also prepares the sissy for her own breasts.'
My eyes widened at the reference to my "own breasts" and my worse fears were quickly realised when my mother asked "when does the breast augmentation surgery begin?'
Ms Stroheim smiled and nodded. 'Your enthusiasm is understandable. There is nothing that more potently expresses the sissy maid's complete subjugation to femininity than her bosom. However, we have to be careful. By the end of the initial training period, the first round of hormone treatments will be completed and the nascent breast structure established. The first surgical intervention will take place within the following two months. Full breast enhancement will be completed within 6 months.'
As my mind reeled with the true nature of my transformation, as I began to realise the appalling fact of my mother's intentions for me, the blonde suddenly stepped forward and began, to my renewed horror, to work something over my rubber-sealed sex.
'The head of the restrainer is made up of a number of micro-filters that allow the normal passage of urine. This also allows a full interface with the recycler tubes.'
I looked down at my sex and watched, devastated, crushed and helplessly aroused, as what appeared to be a further rubber restrainer device was attached. This version of the cruel tool of suppression was slightly different, however; for fitted to its front end was another length of clear rubber tubing.
This was left dangling off the end of my sex as the blonde then disappeared behind my back and began fiddling with the device Ms Stroheim had referred to as the "enema probe".
'The recycler glove and probe extension allow direct connections to the body shaper tubing and establish the internal transmission network for the recycler.'
As the grey-eyed mistress explained a device still beyond my already solely tested imagination, the redhead drew the body shaper up before me. As she held it a few inches from my tormented, sissified form, the blonde carefully unbuttoned the two flaps. She then grabbed me firmly beneath the arm pits and the redhead knelt down. She then began to draw the body shaper over my feet and then up my white marble legs. Still considerably weakened by the injection, still firmly silenced by the fat sponge gag, my only protest was a further trickle of helplessly girlish tears.
With care and determination, the redhead hauled the body shaper up legs and over my waist. Then it was rolled up my torso and pulled firmly into final place over my chest.
Almost immediately, I was aware of its tightness, of the way it seemed to grip every inch of my body in a vice of strong, merciless rubber. But especially my waist: the air was forced from my lungs and out through the sponge gag.
'The waist section is designed from a slightly different mixture of latex rubber,' Ms Stroheim continued. 'It is designed to contract when heated in a way very similar to the restrainer. This produces the effect of a very powerful corset and enforces very effectively a core principle of sissification: permanent body discipline by the controlling female hand; a principle taken to its most extreme and beautiful point by the Recycler.'
As well as the terrible pressure on my waist, there was the highly disturbing impact of the silicon breasts. I felt my weakened body pulled painfully forward and the blonde had to double her efforts to ensure that I remained upright. I felt her large, hopefully natural breasts press into my back and her powerful rose perfume tickle my snow white nostrils. Her sheer nylon sheathed and perfectly shaped legs brushed against the highly sensitised and silky skin of my thighs and I moaned with helpless and soul destroying pleasure.
Then the redhead was working at the buttoned flap at the front of the body shaper. I looked down in horror as the flap was pulled back and my sex popped out.
Now I could see that the head of the second sheath had another clear plastic tube attached to it. The redhead took the tube in her left hand and then rather unceremoniously shoved my rubberised sex back into the shaper. She then closed the flap in such a way that the tube was able to be pulled through a small gap at the top of the flap by the button and then connected to a small plug in the broader tube fixed to the tight waist of the body shaper. She then quickly slipped behind me and, from the fiddling that following, I assumed she pulled a similar tube attached to the enema probe through the rear flap and attached it to a similar plug in the rear section of the waist tube.
As my mind struggled to make sense of this peculiar and very sinister plumbing, I began to feel a certain amount of strength return to my muscles. Suddenly, I was very much aware of the width of the vibrator lodged deep in my anus. A terrible sense of severe and uncomfortable stretching inspired a moan of pain and a helplessly feminine wiggle of discomfort. At the same time, a powerful rose scent began to emanate from my body.
'The relaxant is wearing off,' Ms Stroheim said. 'And he is beginning to sweat."
My mother seemed slightly perplexed. 'Sweat?'
'The body paint is designed to mix with body sweat and convert it into a strong, feminine perfume. The molecular structure of the paint allows the liquid sweat to be evaporated and converted into a rose scent.'
The destruction of my masculinity was progressing at a rapid rate. My body was being consumed by a total and inescapable feminisation. I was losing all control of my most intimate physical processes. My enslavement was terrible and absolute.
'Move him to the stool.'
The blonde released me and I was pushed forward. I found that there was now a renewed strength in my legs and I tottered wearily towards the dressing table, my stride widened by the pressure of the vibrator, a pressure I was finding increasingly pleasant!
It was then that I had my greatest shock. For as the blonde forced me to sit on the stool, I found myself confronting a truly bizarre and humiliating sight: my own reflection. The large oval mirror revealed a strange, half-formed mannequin, a mutant show room dummy. I moaned with despair and burst into tears. As the tears trickled down my shiny, snow white face, the women mocked me with a terrible cruelty, their laughter drowning out my own well-gagged cries with a simple, brutal power.
My head appeared a large white egg. My mouth, with its disturbing, white lips stretched wide by the pink sponge gag, a horrid wound, a break in the fragile surface exposing a sickly internal substance. The only human aspect of this grim façade were my eyes, my large, always girlish, crystal blue eyes, eyes filled with terror and tears, eyes betraying my utter despair, yet also a deeply perverse and irresistible sexual thrill.
Then there was my body. In the mirror only my neck and arms, so perfectly white, were fully visible. But then there was the body shaper and its strange, intensely feminine curves, a device designed to give me the form of a woman and which added a strange hint of humanity to my doll-like presence. And then, running around the waist and up toward the chest of the shaper, were the strange, clear tubes.
'Yes, you do look a little odd,' Ms Stroheim whispered, inspiring further laughter. 'But don't worry, babikins: in a little while you'll be the image of sissy perfection.'
My bowels, still demanding release, gurgled angrily in seeming response. As I had been pushed into the sitting position, the vibrator had slipped even deeper inside of me, and as I struggled to come to terms with my surreal reflection, I fought to resist the waves of guilty pleasure its presence was increasingly inspiring.
The next stage of my transformation began almost immediately. The redhead took a large, black plastic lipstick from the table and knelt down in front of me, her smile as wide and cruel as ever.
'The lipstick is impregnated with the same dye as the body paint,' Ms Stroheim continued to explain to my fascinated and aroused stepmother. 'Once applied, it will be virtually irremovable.'
The redhead held my chin with one hand and then very carefully ran the cherry flavoured, pink tip of the lipstick across my upper lip. Our eyes met and I quivered at the look of merciless sadistic intent. I then knew the deep, dark pleasure my transformation was giving her. In her gaze was a simple, awful fact: to torture and torment me gave her a very powerful sexual pleasure.
Once my lips were fully covered, she returned to the table and took up a large white china pot of pink rouge, its shade matching the lipstick exactly. She then applied with her long, rather beautiful fingers, two large pink circles to each of my alabaster cheeks, changing me from a show room dummy into a Victorian doll minus wig; but then the wig was duly produced.
The blonde pulled back the silken sheet covering the wig stand with an explosive and teasing gesture that imitated some grotesque official unveiling. The other women recognised this by clapping dramatically and as my eyes rested upon the revealed object, more tears of horror flooded forth! For here was the most stunning and thus appalling symbol of my spectacular sissification: a huge explosion of strawberry blonde ringlets that again brought to mind an elaborately decorated Victorian doll.
I watched, stunned and utterly defeated, as the blonde gently lifted the wig from the stand and the brought it over towards my tormented, increasingly sissified form. I looked at the wig and then at the blonde, at this tall, gorgeous creature with her long, black hosed legs and firm, generous bosom. She was truly beautiful and, as her wicked gaze betrayed, utterly unforgiving.
'The wig is fitted to the head by means of special adhesive fastenings sown into its silk lined underside. It will rest very comfortably and firmly on the head. It cannot be removed by the sissy, as a special loosening cream is required to release the stronger adhesive strips fixed to the sides. Obviously, you can choose any wig you see fit for her, but for now we will begin with the classic sissy training model.'
The wig was carefully pulled into position over my head. Then I saw just how effective and permanent this transformation would be. Suddenly, the showroom dummy became a very pretty Victorian doll. I looked at my reflection in amazement. Even with the mutilating gag, I appear strikingly feminine.
'My my,' Ms Stroheim whispered.
My stepmother's words trailed off into a realm of dark speculation. Even she was shocked by the initial results of this forced and deeply perverse changing.
As soon as the wig was in place, the redhead opened a drawer built into the side of the dressing table and extracted a pair of very sheer, pink nylon stockings. As I looked at them, I felt my sex press harder against its tight rubber prison. Memories of erotic investigations into my stepmother's underwear drawers came flooding back as the redhead knelt before me. The feel of her hose, the sheer, soft sensations of tights and stockings, the scents, the illicit thrill of an intense and inescapable fetishism. All these terribly arousing thoughts filled my mind.
The redhead placed the stockings on the tiled floor and then made me stretch out my waxen left leg, with my toes pointed forward in a distinctly feminine manner. The fact that I obeyed her without a moment's hesitation betrayed very clearly my secret longing for some form of envelopment in soft nylon. When I shakily caressed my step-mother's tights, I had always pondered putting them on. But fear and circumstance had always gotten the better of me. Now, however, I had no choice, and my excitement was, despite my wider predicament, very apparent.
'You were right about his tendencies,' Ms Stroheim said, addressing my fascinated mother. 'This will make things much easier.'
The first stocking was drawn up my denuded, painted leg and I suddenly fell into a whirlpool of intense physical pleasure. The soft kiss of very sheer nylon against highly sensitised skin is a truly overwhelming pleasure. Everything that had passed was forgotten and I found myself squealing with a powerful animal arousal, squeals turned to meows of sissy ecstasy by the fat sponge gag.
The stocking was pulled tightly into place at the top of my creamy left thigh and then held there by the addition of a pink lace frilled garter. The redhead, closely watched by the other women, then helped me into the second stocking and secured it with another matching garter.
Tears of helpless arousal trickled from my eyes and I found myself looking over at my step- mother with an intense longing. She met my desperate gaze and smiled.
'He's already completely hooked,' she whispered.
Ms Stroheim smiled. 'As you predicted. The sex drug will be a particularly powerful means of ensuring her complete feminisation and submission. Her natural fetishistic inclinations will help us destroy all traces of the male personality.'
After the stockings, my feet were slipped into a pair of pink satin, adult-sized baby booties, which the blonde had extracted, together with some other odd looking items of clothing, from the closet. The fitting of the booties, again by the smiling, buxom redhead, brought me out of my fetishistic revelry. Once more I was aware of the true nature of my feminisation. The words sissy and baby rang in my head and a sense of terrible humiliation returned.
The large, tight booties were secured with soft pink satin ribbons in fat sissy bows. Then the blonde began work on my hands. First, two lengths of thick pink rubber were produced. They were essentially longer and broader versions of the sheaths imprisoning my desperate cock. These were quickly pulled tightly over my hands, thus totally immobilising my fingers.
'We deny use of the hands during all stages of training. The training sissy must be completely reliant on his carers. This increases control and the sense of utter helplessness that is vital to ensuring a properly trained baby maid.'
As Ms Stroheim explained this latest terrible development, the blonde revealed a pair of stunning pink silk mittens that matched exactly the colour and texture of the booties. These were stretched over the rubberised stumps that were now my hands and pulled tightly in place. And no sooner were they positioned, than the redhead stepped before me armed with a pair of incredible, very heavily frilled white silk briefs. The white lace frilling ran in hoops around the panties, which, despite being made of silk, were very heavily padded.
I was made to stand upright and then step into the panties. The redhead quickly pulled them up my legs and positioned them around my very tightly restrained waist. They brought a sense of devastating ultra-femininity and also stressed the feminine curves the padding of the body shaper created around my hips and backside.
Then there was a moment I would remember for a very long time: the unveiling of the dummy gag. Of all the tools of sissy control that I would be subject to over the coming months, it was this one which, for me, would come to symbolise perfectly my terrible fate.
The dummy gag was taken from a silver metal case by Ms Stroheim herself and held before me with terrifying conviction.
'Remove the sponge gag,' she ordered.
The blonde obeyed, hauling the gag from my mouth in one rough tug. I coughed and spluttered, my long tormented mouth suddenly free of the sound stopping material. But no sooner was I gasping my relief than Ms Stroheim ordered me to open wide.
The dummy gag: essentially a very fat, skin coloured teat fixed to a plastic base shaped in the form of a heart. Yet this was only the surface truth of its diabolical function.
The large, phallic-shaped teat was then shoved deep into my mouth and the plastic plate was pressed firmly against my lips. I felt it stick firmly via some hidden adhesive material, thus holding the dummy in place and sealing my pink-painted lips around its fat, cock-like width.
Yet this was only the beginning of its kinky facilities. For no sooner was the teat lodged deep inside my mouth than, to my surprise and dismay, it began to expand.
'Another chemically enhanced rubber,' Ms Stroheim enlightened. 'The teat will expand to fill the full shape of the mouth. It is designed to expand when in contact with any liquid, including human salvia. Thus it creates an even more effective gag than the sponge and also prevents constriction of throat muscles when the recycling process begins.'
And it did indeed fill my mouth completely. Within a few terrible seconds, it was if a block of soft liquid rubber had occupied every millimetre of my mouth. My tongue was completely flattened and my pink rouged cheeks bulged. Not a squeak could escape from my mouth. I was completely silenced and would remain so for at least the next 30 days.
As soon as they were satisfied the gag was properly positioned, the redhead and the blonde continued their kinky preparations. The blonde returned to the closet. The redhead returned to the drawer beneath the dressing table. In a few seconds, the blonde re-merged from the closet carrying a dress, a most spectacular, breathtaking dress that caused my eyes to widen even further in amazement and my beautiful, voluptuous stepmother to gasp with surprise.
The dress was made from pink silk. Its long sleeves and shoulders were elegantly puffed and thick white lacing trimmed each wide sleeve. The very short skirt was fitted with many layers of delicate white and pink shaded frou-frou petticoating and a series of white pearl buttons ran the length of its curved back. There was also a very high neck, around the top of which ran another layer of expensive French lace. The bodice area was covered in a pattern of pink silk roses.
'How lovely,' my stepmother whispered
'Yes,' Ms Stroheim replied. 'We spend a lot of time on the detail of the sissy attire. Again, a very crucial element in ensuring total submission and control.'
And as the blonde opened out the dress and ordered me to put my arms up above my head, the redhead extracted a thick white leather collar, attached to the front of which was a large silver hook.
Everything was happening very quickly now. As the blonde lowered the amazing dress over my arms and they slipped helplessly into the long, so erotically soft sleeves, I felt a sudden throbbing begin deep in my backside. My first response was fear, but the throbbing was far from unpleasant, and soon I began to appreciate that it was in fact very pleasant! My eyes turned to my mother and I moaned with a helpless, powerful desire. Before my head was covered by the gorgeous, soul imprisoning dress, I saw she was holding a small oblong silver box, in the centre of which was a red dial.
'The key tool of control,' Ms Stroheim explained, as I was plunged into a world of sensual soft pink. 'The vibrator remote.'
As my head emerged through the long, lace be-frilled neck of the dress, I saw my stepmother finger the vibrator in a slow, distracted and very sensual manner. She then turned the dial a little further to the right and the teasing, deeply arousing vibration increased. I moaned a totally silenced moan, my widened, sex teased eyes the only indication of the pleasure she was no giving me.
'You can see the immediate impact,' Ms Stroheim continued.
My stepmother's smile widened and her beautiful honey brown eyes met mine in a gaze of intense promise.
My erection fought the tight, all powerful restrainer and I felt a sense of absolute surrender to this gorgeous, powerful woman. Whatever bizarre and permanent punishment was about to be visited on me, I knew I would always be her property and her devoted slave. Feelings of overwhelming and deeply satisfying surrender washed over me, feelings which increased as the blonde pulled the magnificent dress into place over my feminised form.
The dress fit perfectly. Its silky fabric hid a second skin tightness that accentuated perfectly the busty, ultra-feminine form imparted by the body shaper.
As the blonde used the row of white pearl buttons that ran up the spine of the dress to complete its fitting, the redhead set to work with the thick, white leather collar. Standing to my right side, she pulled the collar around my silk encased neck and then buckled it tightly into position, pushing the lace edging that surrounded the neck of the dress even deeper into my white marble chin.
Then the dress was fitted and the collar was tightly in place. The blonde and the redhead stepped back and the women beheld their divinely kinky creation.
'Quite excellent,' Ms Stroheim whispered. 'One of the best yet.'
'He's…beautiful,' my stepmother said, her eyes continuing to betray the high level of sexual arousal my erotic transformation was inspiring.
'No longer a he,' Ms Stroheim replied. 'Now, he is most surely a she, a she forever.'
My mother nodded and handed the controller to Ms Stroheim. 'Holly,' she then muttered.
'Yes, a lovely name – Baby Holly.'
I looked at my mother and instantly remembered the name she had wanted to give the baby daughter she planned to have with my father. The baby that had never been because of his terrible and ultimately terminal illness.
'Now,' Ms Stroheim continued, 'for the final touches.'
The girls smiled and stepped forward once again. I looked at them with fearful, yet also helplessly excited eyes. I looked at them and felt my initial fear fade. These beautiful creatures, with their wicked smiles and knowing gazes, were the agents of a truly amazing and deeply perverse changing; yet as the vibrator teased the ultra-sensitive walls of my anus and my cock stretched so very desperately against the soft but inescapable restriction of the restrainer, my own feelings were now of helpless sexual arousal.
The blonde returned to the closet, while the redhead stepped up close to my elegantly sissified form. In her right hand she held a length of the clear rubber tubing that seemed so vital to this strange transformation. She then very gently opened a very small, Velcro-sealed flap positioned just beneath my artificial breasts. She then slipped her hand inside and pulled through the length of tubing that travelled up the front the body shaper to below the bra area. She connected this to the new length of tubing and then did something that renewed my fear: she moved much closer to me, so close that her real and very ample breasts pressed against my artificial ones, and then began to remove the curved front piece of the plate that held the extraordinary dummy gag in place. It was only then that I realised the remaining end of the tubing had a screw cap that allowed it be "docked" neatly into the front of the dummy gag!
As the redhead stepped back to inspect her handy work, a sense of true and awful dread washed over my sissified body.
Yet no sooner had the tube connection been made, than the blonde returned from the closet armed with a very large, pink hat box. She placed this at my bootied feet and removed the lid. From inside she extracted a large, elaborate and utterly stunning pink satin baby's bonnet, a piece of fetishised Victoriana that outstripped even the spectacular dress in terms of outrageous ultra-femininity.
A concoction of pink silk and satin layers, with silk side panels attached to which were thick pink silk ribbons. A monstrous excess of wicked babification. A device that did indeed add the final touch to my erotic imprisonment in sissy frillies!
The blonde pulled open the two thick side flaps and then carefully lowered the bonnet over the elaborate wig of sissy ringlets. Our eyes met and I saw a terrible sadistic pleasure which filled me with fear and a dark, powerful and deeply masochistic desire.
She pulled the flaps down the sides of my white dyed cheeks and then tied the bonnet tightly in place with the silk ribbons that hung from each side. The ribbons were tied together in an expert and very fat bow resting just beneath my chin.
'Superb,' Ms Stroheim exclaimed. 'Utterly superb.'
My mother's smile was now a blinding beam of cruel pleasure. I looked at her and felt an utter humiliation and a terrible desire. My eyes drank up her long, black hosed legs and her full, heaving bosom. I wanted her now more than ever. I remembered her words, her promise to make all my dreams come true if I obeyed her; I remembered the look in her large, intensely sensual eyes as she turned the dial on the vibrator controller. Then I felt the tremendously pleasurable vibrations coursing through my arse and I knew there was no turning back from this kinky sissy fate.
'Now attach the mobile Recycler.'
Ms Stroheim's harsh, heartless words dragged me from the drug of my so effectively and absolutely controlled sexual need. I knew the Recycler held a dark and terrible secret that was the key to my transformation. I had pondered the web of tubing and connections and felt a real fear, a fear that cut through the thick wall of desire like a hot knife through soft butter.
It was the redhead who took the strange, transparent plastic cylinder from the drawer beneath the dressing table. It was the size of a four-pint milk bottle. A shallow layer of white liquid rested inside it. Fixed within the top of its cylindrical shape was a short length of the same tubing that now criss-crossed my sissified body.
The blonde then produced what appeared to be a pink leather handbag, whose strange rectangular length more or less matched that of the cylinder. The pink leather strap of the handbag was passed over my neck so that the strap ran diagonally across my body and the bag itself rested on top of the right side of the short, fluffed-out skirt of the dress. The bag was then unclipped and the red head very carefully inserted the cylinder inside it, a perfect and disturbing fit. Then, the tubing on the top of the cylinder was pulled through small hole in the bag. Another very small, Velcro-sealed hole in the side of the dress was revealed.
The tubing was then gently connected to a slot built into the side of the longer tubing that circumnavigated the body shaper. This connected the bagged cylinder to the bizarre network of tubing that now trapped my sissified form in a most peculiar and mysterious web.
'Bind her,' Ms Stroheim ordered.
I stared at my lovely stepmother with renewed concern. She smiled gently, even maternally; trying to reassure me there was nothing to worry about. Suddenly there was a loud, humiliating gurgle from my stretched, full bowel and I blushed, a blush unseen thanks to the thick, semi-permanent dye covering my face.
The blonde used thick silk ribbons to bind my mittened wrists tightly behind my back. She then used a second ribbon to secure my elbows in a very painful manner that left them virtually touching. I cried out in pain and protest, but not even the tinniest squeak of descent escape my expertly stopped mouth.
And once my arms were secured, the red head proceeded to attach pink rubber shackles to my bootied ankles, shackles held only six inches or so apart by a further length of pink silk ribbon, thus creating a very effectively and balance-challenging hobble!
Finally, it seemed I was ready. I felt both frightened and aroused. The layers of feminine attire were uncomfortably hot and I was sweating heavily. But this just added to my fiendish feminisation, for the more I sweated the more powerful the sweet stench of summer roses became.
'Bring out the mobile mirror and let Holly get a good look at herself and her future.'
The blonde smiled at Ms Stroheim's command and minced off to the closet, returning a few seconds later with a large, full-size mirror on a metal, wheeled base.
The mirror was pushed directly before and, for the first time I saw the true and terrible nature of my complete and permanent transformation.
Before me was a living doll, an elaborately constructed homage to ultra-femininity. Initially, I was sure this wasn't actually a reflection, but some clever projection; for Holly looked very little like the male I had been, and what with fat dummy gag, the bonnet, the body dye and the spectacular dress, the creature before me appeared a complete and bizarre stranger.
But soon the truth became inescapable: this sissy doll was me and I was she, a she forever. In less than one hour, I had become the personification of a wicked philosophy of sissification. And what was really shocking? How convincing I appeared! Yes, I suspected that I would have made quite a convincing young girl - if my transformation had been merely from teenage boy to teenage girl. But I was to be the sissiest of sissies, a baby maid, an object to total female control and pleasure. I was no longer a boy or a girl, but a being somewhere between and beneath the two sexes.
My eyes betrayed fascination as much as horror. Across the top of the thick broader satin panel that formed the upper section of the bonnet were the words "Baby Holly", carefully stitched in large red letters. I looked at these two words and realised they announced my true self, the self revealed in the shocking reflection, and I was utterly devastated.
As a tear of deep humiliation trickled from each baby blue eye, I felt, despite my continuing sexual excitement, a last stab of very male anger. Deep down, my crushed male self was still protesting.
'Yes,' Ms Stroheim announced, 'a most radical transformation. But this, my pretty baby, is only the beginning. If you think the worst is over, you are totally mistaken.'
Her words were delivered with a merciless assurance and I found myself looking up desperately at my mother. She merely smiled cruelly and wallowed in my terrible predicament.
Then my eyes returned to the mirror, to my long, shapely and highly feminine legs sealed tightly in sheer, pink nylon. To the thick, heavily be-frilled panties peeping erotically out from beneath the layers of multi-coloured frou-frou petiicoating, to the tight, achingly elaborate dress that so effectively displayed the buxom feminine form imparted by the body shaper.
I viewed my utterly unconvincing and soon to be real bosom. Then my eyes returned to my bonneted head and my tear stained eyes. And it was only then that I took notice of the clear rubber tube rising from beneath my bosom and up into the front of the pink plastic cover of the fiendishly effective dummy gag.
'Yes, Holly – the Recycler.'
My eyes returned to Ms Stroheim and my heart sped up with renewed worry and fear.
'This is the key weapon of control and the most powerful symbol of your complete and utter (and permanent) subjugation. The Recycler will remove the freedom to control the natural functions of your body. It will make you an object of absolute female control, and thus the truest sissy slave.'
My trepidation grew as Ms Stroheim pulled another controller from her skirt pocket. This was much smaller than the vibrator control panel, a circular pink plastic device with a small red button at its centre.
'The principle of the Recycler is simple: the control of your basic body digestion and waste management functions. Over the coming weeks, you will be made completely incontinent by the application of drugs and the widening impact of the vibrator. The restrainer's head is fitted with a network of micro-webbing that will allow urination without restriction. As you know, the vibrator is hollow and fitted with a detachable enema probe that also acts as a suction device. Both the probe and your penis are connected to the mobile Recycler via the network of tubes that are fitted to the body shaper. As you may have noticed, the tube traversing your waist is slightly thicker. This is because it actually contains two tubes, one for processing matter being transmitted into the mobile Recycler, and one for the processed recycle solution, which will be returned to your digestive system via the tube leading up to the dummy gag. The gag itself is made of a specially designed rubber which will act as a sponge, soaking up the recycle solution and then releasing it in a controlled fashion into your mouth and throat. This will prevent choking.'
I listened with increasing horror, yet also with increasing anger. The male self began to rage against its destruction – a final gesture of defiance in the face of this utter emasculation. My eyes widened. Tears dried up and anger replaced fear.
'The mobile Recycler is carried within its handbag container at all times. It is able to contain up to five pints of recycled and liquefied waste material. You will receive enemas twice daily to ensure that your bowel is thoroughly cleansed and that all faecal waist matter is released in a liquefied state. Liquefication will be ensured by a powerful laxative that is added to the recycle solution when it is being mixed in the Recycler. The Recycler attached to you at the moment also contains a special sterilising solution, flavouring, a number of key nutrients and a powerful sex drive enhancement drug. This will be mixed with the waste material and pumped back up to the dummy gag. Within two weeks, there will be no need for sterilisation, as you bowel will be completely cleaned of all impurities and all waste matter with be pure liquid. Of course, you will not be able to survive on constantly received waste matter, even if it is regularly injected with nutrients. You will therefore also be fed by your trainers twice daily. The food will be liquefied and administered via pint-sized baby bottles.'
As she paused, I tried to squeal my outrage into the gag, but only a pathetic, girlish peep of
despair escaped the all-pervasive, silencing wall of soft rubber that was so effectively filled my mouth.
'I am afraid food, and especially the pleasure of food, is now a thing of the past for you, Holly, as it is for all our sissy slaves. You live only to serve women in state of absolute and continual obedience. Your will live to be to be useful and give pleasure to your mistresses. To help ensure this, you will be kept in a state of powerful sexual arousal at all times. This is probably the only reason you will, for now, be allowed to keep your cock and balls. We will harness the violent energy that is at the heart of male desire and turn it into a tool for your control. Soon, you will be addicted to your pretty dresses, your sheer hose, your babyish frillies. Soon, there will be only sexual need and servitude – the two indistinguishable. A mistress may choose to relieve your constant and inescapable cravings at some point in the future, but while you are here, there will only be training and service.'
This was my awful, startling, brutally cruel fate. Tears now poured from my eyes. I looked again at my mother's beautiful visage and tried to communicate my terror and outrage. But then Ms Stroheim pressed the red button and a new and terrible stage in my sissy training began.
Very quickly, I felt a new vibration, a vibration that originated from the plastic container sealed in the dainty pink handbag. Then there was a strange, frightening movement in the vibrator and I sensed a slow, gradual release of the pressure on my stomach. Then I knew what was happening: the enema was being released into the tubes, and thus – eventually – into the Recycler, and, when sterilised and mixed with the nutrients, the sex drug and the "flavouring" it would be pumped up to the dummy gag for release into my stopped, utterly helpless mouth!
I shook my head violently and tried to move towards my mother. I screamed my hate, my anger, my fading male essence. Almost immediately, thanks to the hobble, I lost my balance and collapsed onto the floor. It was then that I began to feel another, even more worrying sensation – the vibrator positioned so tightly in my backside was beginning to heat up! I squealed fear and pain and looked up to see my mother standing over me with the vibrator remote in her hand.
The heat increased and with it came a very painful burning sensation. I wiggled and struggled and squealed. Tears flooded from my eyes. The sound of female laughter filled the room.
'If you continue to resist, the vibrator will be left on heat mode for a full ten minutes. If you calm down and follow our instructions, the heat mode will be switched off. Do you understand?'
Ms Stroheim's cold, merciless voice left me no option. Panic-stricken, I nodded furiously. Then the heat began to subside and soon the vibrator had returned to its highly arousing, relatively low-level throbbing.
Shaken and weakened, I was pulled to my feet and my elegant and deeply humiliating sissy costume was adjusted.
'The vibrator remote control can give you intense pleasure or, as you have just witnessed, intense pain. It is up to you which one you experience.'
I nodded again, utterly defeated. And it was then that I began to taste the liquid that was beginning to seep through the mysteriously porous fabric of the fat dummy gag. An initial sense of utter disgust faded quickly when I realised the taste was far from unpleasant. Indeed, the liquid now trickling down my throat tasted very much like a sweet banana-flavoured milk shake!
'Take her to the reception room,' Ms Stroheim ordered.
The redhead took my left arm and the blonde my right, and then I was led slowly from the white room, the booties and hobble ensuring my steps were tiny and helplessly little girlish. As I tottered so pathetically forward, I became aware that my tightly pantied bottom was wiggling in a distinctly feminine manner, and that the silicon padding was making my artificial boobs bounce in a highly suggestive and provocative fashion.
We left the room via a large metal door and then entered a very long, white-walled corridor fitted with thick white carpeting. There was no sound at all in the corridor, which was lined with a series of very similar metal doors, all painted white and each one numbered. I noticed that none of the doors had handles, and set by each was a rectangular metal box with a glass front piece.
We moved slowly down the corridor to room 6. Here, the blonde pressed the palm of her hand against the corresponding glass front piece. There was a sudden, low pitched beep and then the door slid open to reveal a shocking sight. Before me was a relatively small, pink walled room. Like the corridor, it was fitted with thick white carpet. Lining one side of the wall was a long, white leather sofa; on the other side of the room was an elegant white mahogany table on which were placed two bottles of wine, wine glasses and a collection of breakfast-style finger snacks. Sitting on the sofa were my two gorgeous stepsisters – Anita and Angeline. Both were being served snacks and drink from the table by two sissies.
My eyes widened with horror and a terrible, deep humiliation. I had forgotten all about my two stepsisters. Their original absence had been a mystery I had briefly pondered, but now their sudden and so unexpected appearance filled me with an awful dread.
As soon as I was led into the room, their cruel, honey brown eyes fell upon me. Yet, while they appeared deeply amused and indeed excited by my arrival, neither seemed to recognise me as there long-disliked stepbrother.
'Oh good, another one!' Angeline exclaimed, rising to her feet with the most malicious of grins on her beautiful face. 'And what a cutie! The best one yet!'
She then burst out laughing and Anita joined in. Although they could never know, I was blushing furiously and my eyes averted their wicked, merciless gazes with a soul-crushing desperation, falling upon the other sissies and a sight that provided me with a sudden and very terrible insight into my own intricately sissified future. For I found myself beholding two truly startling creations. The first, who was nearest to me, was taller and thinner. "She" was dressed in what appeared to be a white rubber, figure hugging leotard, an incredibly erotic second skin which revealed every contour of her sex bomb figure, including very large, perfectly shaped breasts with very long and very hard nipples. The leotard had a very high, lace be-frilled neck and rubber, fingerless mittens which appeared seamless attachments to each arm, thus giving her the appearance of having no hands! Her long, beautifully shaped legs were sealed in very fine, white latex rubber tights, and her feet rested in spectacular ankles boots made from silk lined white leather, each of which was dominated by a striking 6 inch stiletto heel! A tiny "tu-tu" like skirt was attached to the leotard, and just above it rested a very familiar white leather handbag. From just below her substantial breasts, the equally familiar rubber tube emerged, connecting via a wide arc to the front of the white plastic panel of her dummy gag. She too wore a large, intricately designed bonnet, through which thick strawberry blonde curls were clearly visible. The red lettering on the larger panel of the bonnet just above her forehead read "Baby Bonny".
Her eyes, which had clearly been made to look like those of a china doll by some form of wicked plastic surgery, were a stunning pale blue and stretched wide by unbearable sexual arousal. She seemed overwhelmingly excited by her feminisation, and each gesture, each movement was marked by a tiny shudder of almost painful sexual need.
Standing close to her was the second and even more startling sissy. This creature was dressed in red: she wore a gorgeous and explosive red satin mini dress rather similar to my own, but its very wide and short skirt was balanced upon a positive ocean of delicate frou-frou petticoating, all white and all semi-transparent. However, unlike my dress, the front of the skirt had been completely removed for a very simple and wicked purpose: to reveal her very large, deeply paradoxical penis! Tightly sheathed in a red nylon restrainer and held prisoner by three tight, thick silver rings – one at the top and one at the base of the stiff shaft, and a large one secured around her bulging testicles - her sex rose up the front panel of the marvellous dress and was connected to it by a small, narrow silver chain connected to the uppermost ring.
She wore cherry red, seamed tights and 3 inch stiletto heeled court shoes made from a glowing red patent leather. She was smaller and plumber than the strawberry blonde (with very large, tightly restrained breasts), her own jet hair hidden beneath another elaborate bonnet that revealed her to be "Baby Lulu".
Her carefully sculpted emerald coloured eyes were filled with the same terrible need as her sissy companion, and she too was fully fitted with a mobile Recycler and the accompanying web of tubing.
Then Ms Stroheim and my stepmother entered the room.
'Meet Baby Holly,' my stepmother announced.
The looks of teasing amusement on the lovely faces of my stepsisters changed instantly to shock and amazement.
'This is him!?' Angeline gasped. 'My god!'
They looked at me with an almost black incredulity, struck dumb by the power of my terrible transformation. Then they both burst into the most vicious and prolonged laughter, laughter that the other women quickly and very willingly contributed to.
My mother was obviously fascinated by the other sissies, and Ms Stroheim was quick to introduce them once the initial laughter had died down.
'Upon graduation, the sissy is surrendered into the hands of the female guardian. Normally this is a mother or wife. She is given complete freedom with regard to the final appearance of her sissy. The sissy is her property and she can do what she wishes with her. Most mothers derive very great satisfaction from "customising" their sissy slaves. We have the facility to provide any costume required and, although expensive, we can also undertake a wide range of further surgical procedures. We will guarantee large, utterly realistic breasts, facial amendments and vocal adjustments. Anything else is additional and at your discretion.'
As my stepsisters moved closer to me, as they began to run their long, elegant hands over my expertly feminised form and make teasing baby sounds, I tried to concentrate on Ms Stroheim's awful and terrifying words.
'Both Bonny and Lulu are good examples of the potential offered by customization. Bonny underwent full sex change soon after her graduation. Her mother was particularly keen for her to be fully transformed, as was her new boyfriend, a much younger man. Bonny has been used mainly as a sex slave by the boyfriend, and as a fully trained domestic by her mother. All our sissies are trained to give full sexual service to women and men, so Bonny was well prepared for her demanding duties with the boyfriend. She has also been fitted with vibrators in her new sex and in her anus. Modern surgery allows us to make the new vagina particularly responsive to sexual stimulation. This, plus the continuing and constant injection of the sex enhancement drug via the Recycler, bring Bonny non-stop sexual stimulation at a very high and arousing level.'
I stared at Bonny in horror and with a helpless sexual fascination. She was utterly gorgeous and her own eyes betrayed a dreadful sexual need whose root was the utterly addictive sex drug flooding her body every second of the day!
'Lulu is a less extreme example of customization. Her sex remains intact and on permanent display. She is the property of an aunt. Indeed, Lulu was sent to us by her mother and then sold to her half-sister. The aunt finds the male sex both attractive and useful, and Lulu is required to satisfy her every physical need. Given this, we were happy to undertake penis enlargement surgery and to increase breast size by two grades beyond the standard forty inch chest guaranteed. She has also had significant vocal enhancement rather than the vocal chord suppression that Bonny and many of the other sissies are subjected to.'
'Vocal chord suppression?'
My mother's question inspires an even greater horror.
'During the training period, the sissies are permanently dummy gagged. Most guardians have no use for a sissy's voice and allow us, as a free extra, to chemically treat the vocal chords so that they no longer function. This is a permanent treatment and is a lot cheaper than some kind of surgical intervention.'
I looked at Bony and felt a terrible sympathy mix with desire and dark, bottomless fear. She returned my stare, her large, doe eyes filled with angry need and a terrible, terror-laced despair.
'I haven't decided about her voice or her cock yet.'
My stepmother's words inspired more silent screams of outrage. My wide, always girlish eyes pleaded silently and her cruel smile widened.
'I think we'll lose the voice, but I'd rather keep the cock for a few months at least.'
As tears of true horror poured from my eyes, the laughter of my stepsisters filled the small, elegant room.
'You won't need his silly little dick, mummy,' Anita snapped. 'Chop it off!'
My mother smiled indulgently as the girls' laughter increased. This outburst was quickly stifled
by Ms Stroheim.
'It is time for her to be put in the Nursery.'
I looked up into my stepmother's powerful, beautiful brown eyes through a film of tears. She broadened her smile and then leant forward to plant a warm, gentle kiss on my snow white right cheek.
'Remember what I told you, Holly,' she whispered, her lovely, powerful perfume filling my terror flared nostrils.
I begged her for forgiveness and mercy. As she pulled away from me, her soft, ample breasts, tightly imprisoned in the figure hugging nylon sweater brushed against my face. My eyes fell upon her long, black nylon wrapped legs and I felt a sudden, furious need for her, a maddening sexual craving the like of which I had never felt before. Almost immediately, my mind was plagued with renewed memories of caressing her soft panties, tights and stockings. For second I was sure I would ejaculate helplessly. Then I felt the rubber restrainer tighten around my boiling, rock hard cock and felt a most awful and utterly profound sense of frustration. The sex drug was beginning to take its terrible effect.
The redhead then led me through a door at the opposite end of the reception room and into the Nursery. The room was bathed in a very soft pink light that made me struggle to adjust my already tear and desire blurred vision.
The Nursery was a small, windows room, almost a cell. It was lit by the single, weak pink light and a strange, chime like music tinkled through unseen speakers. The four walls of the room were covered in pictures of Victorian dolls whose costumes were very similar to those worn by the sissy inmates of this strange and frightening academy of enforced ultra-feminisation. The floor of the Nursery was covered in thick sponge rubber matting decorated with pictures of roses.
Positioned in a triangle in the centre of the room were three adult-sized play pens, each made of what appeared to be pink wood. Inside the pens were a large variety of dolls, all dressed in the same intricate attire as those on the walls, plus a carpet of satin and silk wrapped cushions. The room reeked of sweetly perfumed sissy sweat.
Yet of this was quickly forgotten, as I saw that two of the three pens were already inhabited.
'Say hello to Holly, girls,' the redhead teased. 'Not that you'll ever be able to say hello to anyone!'
By now my whole body was on sex fire. As the Recycler flooded my system with the sex enhancement drug, the world became an erotic object. Suddenly everything appeared alive with terrible sexual potential. My desire was a tidal wave of personality destroying physical craving. The smell and feel of the red head was unbearable and the sight of my fellow sissy captives only added to my dreadful and utterly inescapable torment.
The pen furthest from me was occupied by a sissy dressed almost exactly the same as myself, except that her colour was powder blue – the dress, the bonnet, the stockings, the booties, the mittens. All powder blue. On the top of the bonnet were the words "Baby Petal". The sissy in the pen next to her was coloured creamy yellow. And her name was "Baby Daisy". I looked at these unfortunates and they looked at me. Their eyes betrayed the same painful mixture of volcanic sexual excitement and horrible humiliation that I had seen in the tormented eyes of the two unfortunate graduates. Both were utterly quiet, unable, thanks to the all powerful gag, to make even the slightest whimper of protest or plea for a mercy that would never ever come.
I was led to the empty pen and made to step inside. The redhead then forced me to my knees and produced another length of thick pink silk ribbon. She used this to tie my bound wrists to the silk ribbon that held the ankle shackles so closely together and thus secured me in a taught, rather uncomfortable kneeling position. She then looked down at me and laughed with utter contempt.
'Ms Stroheim has made me your personal training mistress, Holly. That makes you very, very lucky, because I really do like you and am going to enjoy playing with you so much.'
I looked up at her with stunned eyes and beheld a gorgeous, all-powerful goddess. As the sex drug fried my mind and body, I wanted nothing more than to do this pretty creature's bidding in any way she saw fit. I was hers forever already.
Then, to my utter astonishment, she raised her short skirt and revealed black nylon covered, white silk panties. A large circular stain revealed the true nature of her excitement, a stain she then intimately acquainted me with by rubbing her sex into my face. Secured as I was, resistance was impossible. The strong smell of her sex cut through the teasing stink of sissy sweat. She burst out laughing, pulled down her skirt and then used the chain running from my thick leather collar to tether me to one of the cot's wooden bars. Then she left the Nursery.
The door slid shut and I found myself facing Daisy and Petal, a terrifying white liquid running through the tubes curving from beneath their substantial breasts and into the front pieces of their dummy gags. They, like me, were being force fed their own waste matter and driven mad by the awesome impact of the sex drug. They, like me, were doomed to a life of relentless sissy servitude at the hands of cruel, determined and utterly perverse women. Yet even as we shared this pit of cosmic humiliation whose purpose was to destroy every vestige of our previous masculinity and leave us emasculated, dumb sex slaves whose only function was to serve our mistresses and to hunger for an impossible release, we also shared a pure and irresistible sexual desire. As I found myself looking at my fellow sissies, I also found myself assessing them as objects of desire. Each was strikingly pretty in her delicate, sexy baby maid outfit and each appeared equally attracted to me! Each was completely silenced by the fat, wicked dummy gag, and all that could be said was being said with wide, sissy eyes.
And then the vibrations increased. Someone beyond the Nursery had turned the control dial towards maximum pleasure mode, and within seconds all three of us were wiggling madly, our false breasts bouncing furiously, our eyes stretched wide with a pleasure that threatened to destroy our very sense of who we were. And this, we knew, was only the beginning.
Christina Shelly's new novel, Silken Servitude, will be published by Nexus in December 2005, and can be pre-ordered via Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.
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