Company of Slaves Read online

  Eventually, I was led naked and shaven from the bathroom and back to her bedroom.

  ‘There’s nothing that will fit you, I’m afraid,’ she said, guiding me by the hand, ‘but we can improvise until tomorrow. Then we’ll go out and buy some stuff in your size.’

  Of course, I couldn’t believe her words. In this surreal new reality, language had turned into the very stuff of my deepest sexual fantasies.

  My eyes caressed her grey-hosed legs and the sound of her thighs rubbing together tormented my ears. Once in the bedroom, she told me to sit on the bed and then minced elegantly over to the large walk-in closet that took up most of one wall and which I had tentatively explored on more than one occasion.

  I sat and watched her in stunned silence, my erection pressing desperately into my stomach, my freshly shaven body tingling. I was overwhelmed by a sense of feminine weakness, of submissive acceptance, of sissy bliss. Yes, this is what I had wanted for so long: to reveal this deeply rooted part of my personality, to escape the limits of my sex and the absurd gender fascism of our broken society.

  From the wardrobe, my gorgeous, loving aunt took a beautiful silver-coloured blouse made from a shimmering satin and a black velvet miniskirt with an elasticated waist. She then extracted an armful of undies from a set of drawers set into her dressing table and placed them beside the other clothes.

  I looked nervously at the clothes and then up at my aunt, my goddess.

  ‘They look lovely.’

  My voice was so weak, so soft, so fear and desire strained.

  Aunt Jane smiled and gently brushed her hand against my flushed cheek.

  ‘Yes, and they’ll look even lovelier on you, Mikey.’

  I was now quite dizzy with excitement. My aunt lowered her hand and placed a long, gentle kiss on my forehead.

  ‘Don’t worry – there’s nothing to be ashamed or scared of,’ she whispered, as her large breasts brushed against my boiling, crimson cheek. ‘I want to help you. I understand. Now, let’s start with the panty girdle – it’ll give you a lovely smooth front and keep that naughty willy under control.’

  She took a white, elastane-panelled panty girdle from the bundle of undies and held it before me, its silver-tinged front covered in a pattern of delicately woven silk roses. She knelt down before me and gently slipped the girdle over my small, girlish feet. She told me to stand and drew the tight, sensual foundation garment up my shaven, shaking legs. As she pulled it over my rigid, desperately aching sex and around my slender waist, I let out a gasp of terrible, shocked pleasure.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ she purred, pulling it tightly into position with her long, blood red-nailed hands and very effectively flattening my sex against the soft wall of my lower stomach.

  I nodded, quite transfixed by the sudden, deeply arousing sensation of absolute restriction the girdle produced. I didn’t even notice as my aunt then took the pair of very sheer nylon tights from the bed. But when she quite deliberately ran them across my chest, I let out a sissy squeal of even more intense pleasure and Aunt Jane burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh dear, this is all getting a little too much for you.’

  I smiled weakly and allowed her to gently guide me back to the bed. She knelt down before me, carefully bundled the two legs of the tights into wide, open bowls and slipped the bowls over my feet.

  As she very carefully guided the tights up over my legs, I nearly fainted, so suddenly overwhelmed was I by a dreadful erotic excitement. The sensation of the soft, sheer nylon against my silky smooth legs, my ultra-sensitive, freshly shaven legs, was incredible. I moaned with a truly mind-bending pleasure and my aunt looked up into my eyes, looking deep into me, almost as if she was feeding on my pleasure, gaining a deep, life-affirming power from my cries of delight.

  I was made to stand again and the tights were pulled up around my waist. Aunt Jane then smoothed out one or two twists of the gorgeous, teasing fabric with her warm, gentle hands, brushing against my flattened, restrained but still wildly aroused sex as she did so.

  ‘They look great on you, Mikey,’ she said, standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘You’ve got great legs, really shapely and feminine. They were made for tights.’

  I mumbled a hoarse ‘thank you’ and fought to remain upright, my heart now pounding out a hammer rhythm of raging need.

  The rest of the clothes followed in a strange blur of teasing desire. After the tights, came a pair of very frilly white silk panties, then the blouse, which was easily two sizes too big and appeared like a strange satin dress against my slender, petite form. The tails of the blouse were eventually hidden by the sexy black velvet skirt, which added to the amazing impact of the tights on my legs and my own increasingly delicious sense of absolute envelopment in the joys of femininity.

  Once dressed, Aunt Jane led me to her dressing table, a place I had explored on more than one secret trip to the bedroom sanctum of this buxom, sensual woman.

  As I sat down before the large, oval mirror that dominated the table, I gasped once again, but this time with a deep, very genuine surprise. For before me was a truth I had hidden not entirely successfully for many years: a strikingly girlish boy, a very pretty, helplessly feminine boy, whose new dress exposed a mistake of nature: a lovely teenage girl trapped in the body of a boy!

  ‘Yes,’ Aunt Jane said, gently resting her hands on my shoulders, ‘it really is quite amazing. Just a few feminine frillies and you’re someone else. But I always knew you were a beauty, Mikey; only I didn’t quite realise you were a boy-girl.’

  ‘A boy-girl’. The perfect expression for the reflection facing me, and of the feelings that had tormented me for so long. I was a girl in a boy’s body, yet with a boy’s desires, which meant a powerful attraction to women. Yet even this was not entirely accurate. For as the ever stronger feelings of femininity gripped me, so did a nagging sense that it wasn’t just women who aroused my passions. Memories of my disturbing feelings when flicking through the film and style magazines came flooding back, and even stranger memories of the tall, handsome boys at school, the ones who had mocked my weakness, my sissy features. I felt my erection strain even harder against the loving embrace of the panty girdle and knew my desire was much more complex than even that of the heterosexual transvestite.

  The boy-girl quickly became much more girl than boy as my beautiful aunt began to apply make-up to my soft facial features. The expert application of a light foundation, pale blue eye shadow and strawberry lipstick had an immediate and even more shocking effect, an effect made apparent by the look of increasing amazement on my aunt’s lovely face.

  ‘It really is quite astonishing, Mikey. Really…’

  And I could only agree. For the person who sat before me now could never be mistaken for anything other than a pretty teenage girl, a vision of classic, blossoming womanhood.

  Still stunned, I was helped to my hosed feet.

  ‘It really would be nice to get your hair curled,’ Aunt Jane said, a slightly sadistic twinkle in her dark eyes.

  ‘But it’s too short,’ I spluttered back, very much aware of the fact that she had always insisted my blond hair be cut very close.

  ‘Yes, but that would make it even more delightful! You’d be a lovely sissy boy, but a girl as well. We’d tease out the ambivalence. It’s even better than pretending to be a girl. This isn’t pretence, we’d be saying – this is the glorious reality. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

  Strangely, the thought did excite me, and I found myself nodding nervously.

  ‘Good, I’ll arrange for you to have a perm asap.’

  She then led me from the room and into my strange, erotic she-male future.

  * * *

  For the rest of that day, I was instructed in feminine movement and manners by my stunning aunt. She was a kind, enthusiastic teacher, and by 10 p.m., I was moving with the careful, sweet grace of a ballet dancer, showing impressive feminine modesty when bending and sitting, walking with a distinctly provocative sissy wi
ggle, my legs inches apart, my nylon-sheathed thighs brushing together erotically, my petite, tightly girdled bottom bouncing to a sexy, teasing rhythm. I was shown how to eat and drink with careful feminine gestures, turning each move of the wrist or hand into an erotic game. My aunt applauded my progress and took me to the living room sofa. Here she smothered me in a tight, maternal embrace and told me how proud she was to have a beautiful sissy nephew. I squirmed in my feminine attire and tried to fight an overwhelming sense of violent sexual arousal that threatened to inspire a very nasty accident deep in my tight, sexy undies.

  As we sat on the sofa, Aunt Jane made it very clear to me that my new self would be far less passive around the house than my previous masculine personality. I was to learn to cook, to sew, to wash and iron. I was to be responsible for cleaning the house. The price of my new femininity was to become my aunt’s maid/housekeeper, a role that both frightened and excited me, and which I accepted without a moment’s hesitation. She also made it clear that she expected me to continue at school as if nothing had happened. I would study until the end of the academic year and then take my A level examinations. Then my position would be ‘reviewed’.

  Although in public I would remain a boy, in normal boy’s attire, at home I would be feminised at all times. And even outside, I would wear feminine frillies beneath my male clothing.

  As she led me up to my bedroom, I was still sure all this had been some wonderful, terribly erotic dream. But once in my room, it soon became clear how real this incredible adventure was about to become. For my aunt almost immediately set about very slowly undressing me, her dark, excited eyes never leaving mine as she unbuttoned, unzipped and unrolled, and very soon she had me stark naked, my furious sex staring up at her like a puppy begging for more.

  She looked down at my sex and smiled. ‘Wait here,’ she whispered.

  She slipped from the room, leaving me trapped in a terrible, frustrating cell of laboured breathing and boiling skin.

  She returned a few minutes later carrying a beautiful, long, pink silk nightgown and a pair of matching panties.

  ‘We’ll get you some more suitable nightwear tomorrow, petal. But these should certainly do for tonight.’

  She helped me into the soft, teasing panties and I moaned with pleasure. Then she slipped the nightgown over my head and I was lost in a world of supreme tactile ecstasy. It was almost as if my shaven body was being covered in a thousand sweet butterfly kisses. The gown was semi-transparent, with a very high, button up, lace befrilled neck, plus frilled sleeves and a frilled hem. It was too big, but this just added to the sense of complete and utter envelopment that I found so incredibly sexy.

  Thus prepared for the night, Aunt Jane led me to my bed, threw back the covers and gently laid me out on my back. I stared up at her like a baby staring up at its mother and felt a renewed sense of divine adoration for this beautiful, loving woman, this light of my now distinctly sissified life.

  Yet even the bizarre and deeply erotic events of the last few hours could not prepare me for what happened next. For she then knelt down by my side and gently slipped my pretty pink panties down over my lower thighs, causing my very stiff and very frustrated sex to pop up once again. Then she began to caress its crimson length with a warm, red-nailed hand and I entered a realm of pleasure that defied description.

  As I moaned and writhed under this delicately tortuous caress, she whispered words of comfort and encouragement.

  ‘You’ve been such a good girl today, my sweet little flower. I’m so happy that I’ve found out about your lovely secret. We’ll be so happy together. Auntie Jane and her pretty niece. And tomorrow, we’ll spend the day shopping for so many pretty, delicate things. Then we’ve got the rest of the holidays to create the new you.’

  I nodded helplessly and gasped as she ran her index finger very gently over the bulging head of my cock.

  ‘But Mikey…that’s not the name for my new niece…is it?’

  Now squealing with pleasure, I shook my head furiously, my eyes pinned to hers, my heart in my mouth, my blood burning with sexual need.

  ‘No. We’ll call you Michelle. Pretty Michelle. Shelly, for short. Yes, from now on, you’ll be Shelly.’

  Then she gripped my balls and the base of my cock, smiled gently, and slipped her soft, cherry red lips over its purple head. I cried out in amazement as she lowered her head over my sex, taking its full length into her warm, loving mouth.

  Her tongue tickled its rigid shaft and her head began to bob up and down over its length. I squealed like a little girl, the little girl she wished me to be. My whole body tensed and then all physical control was surrendered as I exploded once again, a titanic, body- and soul-shocking orgasm. The semen burst out of my cock and into her mouth like a concentrated tidal wave. Her cheeks bulged and her eyes widened, but she stuck to her erotic task, drinking down my cum like it was nectar. I screamed, I bucked, a million silver stars filled my vision. Suddenly, I was outside my body, watching this furious erotic spectacle from some strange, unclear place that was more real than my own life, this single moment, these strange events. Then I hurtled back to earth and re-entered my body, my heart ramming into my chest, a sense of incredible and absolute relief washing over me, a relief that was tinged with a strange sadness, and, at its edges, a bleak vision of what had just happened and what my desire had driven me to do. But this vision quickly passed, to be replaced by the wonderful sight of my step-aunt licking the remaining cum from the head of my sex, a smile lighting up her face, a woman satisfied, a woman complete.

  ‘Wasn’t that lovely?’ she whispered, pulling my pretty pink panties back into place. ‘And if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you a similar treat tomorrow night.’

  I could only nod weakly and mumble a pathetic thank you, my body now relaxing, my mind slowing, a shocked sleep very close.

  She neatly reordered my nightdress, pulled the bed sheets up around my chest, then kissed me gently on my hot, pale forehead.

  ‘Sleep well, pretty Shelly.’

  I was asleep before she left the room, cast into a pit of dreamless unconsciousness by an exhaustingly exciting day and a stunning introduction to my incredible, kinky sexuality.

  * * *

  The next day was even more bizarre and exciting. I was stroked to consciousness by my aunt and told to bathe and present myself in her room. Naked, my shaven body a terrible, erotic confession of my willing sissification, I stood before her, my sex once again rock hard, my eyes eating up her splendid ample form with starving eyes. Dressed in a tight black nylon sweater, a knee-length black leather skirt, sheer black hose and stiletto-heeled mules, she was a startling image of dominant femininity. Her hair in a suitably stern bun, her lips painted blood red, her eyes wide and filled with their own fierce sexual need, she appeared before me a goddess, a divine vision to be worshipped, and whose inescapable symbol of utter supplication was my unbearable erection.

  I was powdered and perfumed, helped into a fresh panty girdle, sheer white nylon tights and pink, heavily frilled silk panties. Over this feminine foundation, I wore a pair of my own black trousers, a white cotton shirt and a black jacket. My best leather shoes were slipped over hosed feet and I was led downstairs to breakfast.

  We drove into town, my heart racing, my eyes fighting uselessly to avoid my aunt’s perfect, nylon-encased legs. Then we shopped. For three hours, my aunt led me through a delightful, apparently endless maze of female clothing stores, her gold credit card the key to my impending and permanent envelopment in feminine frillies. She purchased a mountain of panties, tights, stockings, girdles, skirts, blouses, dresses and shoes, the finely honed taste of a professional model ensuring both a consistent style and an appropriate fit (she was delighted that my slender form meant I could easily make the standard female sizes without any alteration).

  As well as clothes, she helped me to choose make-up, perfumes, a vast array of toiletries, even a handbag and a small collection of elegant, inexpensive jewellery (w
hich included a number of pairs of very pretty clip-on earrings).

  We bought so much that we had to make three separate trips to the car, which, by the time we arrived home, was packed to overflowing with the dainty objects of my feminisation.

  That afternoon was sheer bliss. I spent virtually three wonderful hours with my aunt trying on the vast array of clothes and then modelling them before her. The fetishistic sexual delight at the heart of my previously secret transvestite desire came very much to the fore of my tormented mind, and I found myself not only delighting in wearing the clothes, but in their feel, in their appearance, in their almost indescribable sexual power over me. My transvestite identity was announced and spectacularly confirmed. There would be no turning back now, no return to the weak, confused youth who had been Michael. Now I was established, beyond doubt, as the pretty she-male, Michelle (Shelly, for short). Forever.

  By teatime, we agreed that I would wear a lovely satin-panelled, pink panty girdle, very sheer white nylon tights, a surprisingly short white and pink checked wool miniskirt and a very tight pink nylon sweater. Added to this distinctly sissy display were a bright pink lipstick, a pair of very impressive imitation diamond stud earrings and (the pièce de résistance) a pair of pink patent leather, stiletto-heeled court shoes.