Silken Servitude Read online

  As I tottered behind the beautiful deceptively petite Annette, my eyes were drawn to her impressive form. She was wearing the uniform of the senior housemaid: a black Senso silk dress, black seamed tights, a white silk and elegantly named pinafore, very high-heeled court shoes, glacé gloves and a dainty maid’s gap resting on a carefully sculptured bun of spectacular red hair. Thanks to Senso and the relentless torments of my sissy desire, I was finding myself constantly attracted to every inmate and employee of the SMC academy. Annette was the second maid trained by the stunning trio of mistresses who had founded the company, and like Christina she moved with a grace that was both erotically formal and surprisingly relaxed. As my eyes fed on her great she-male beauty, I found myself fantasising about her life with the cruel gorgeous Mistress Anne and, as usual, my tightly restrained cock fought for release from its unyielding rubber and steel prison.

  As a trainee housemaid, I was, as usual, dressed in a pink Senso silk dress, a white Senso pinafore (unnamed), very sheer Senso nylon tights (also seamed), plus pink, five-inch high-heeled ankle boots with butterfly buckles and pink silk ribbon lacing. A dainty pink maid’s cap rested on my carefully styled hair, which Mistress Helen prefers that I wear in a ponytail bound with another pink silk ribbon. White glacé gloves covered my small girlish hands. Beneath my dress I wore a tight white Senso rubber waist-cincher corset, white Senso rubber panties beneath my tights and a pair of heavily be-frilled white Senso silk panties over them.

  I minced down the corridor with the tiniest and daintiest of steps, my bottom wiggling furiously, my heart filled with excited sissy anticipation. My previous encounters with Ms Blakemore had been brief but terribly impressive, her powerful ample presence filling me with a natural sissy submissiveness. Yet it was not this alone that drew me to her: in her eyes there had always been a dark irony, almost a mocking approach to our intricate feminisation. She had the subtle indifference of the intellectual, rather than the fiery passion of the zealot that was so common amongst the other mistresses.

  Annette had brought me to the Matron’s office door next to the Nursery. She knocked lightly and stepped back. A simple ‘come’ was her response. Annette smiled gently and gestured me forward. I opened the door nervously and tottered as sweetly as possible into the office.

  Before me I found the gorgeous form of Ms Blakemore, in her striking Matron’s uniform. She was sitting at a glass-topped desk working at a computer. As I minced into the middle of the room, my sissy heart pounding, she seemed to ignore me totally. Unsure what to do, I performed the required deep curtsey, raising my skirt and petticoats to reveal proudly my nylon sheathed-thighs and panties.

  As I rose, I found myself looking straight into her large dark eyes and my heart skipped a beat. She smiled gently.

  ‘You really are lovely, Shelly. Perhaps our most striking catch so far.’

  I bob-curtsied my appreciation of this compliment, knowing never to talk before a mistress instructed to do so.

  Ms Blakemore then rose slowly from her black leather office chair and came over to examine me in more detail. The sweet smell of her sandalwood perfume washed over me and I tried my very hardest not to stare with a helpless obsessive admiration at her large tightly restrained bosom.

  Her eyes caressed my body and I quivered with a terribly exciting mixture of fear and desire, a potent potion of ambivalence that is the standard emotional response to this army of beautiful and very determined women.

  ‘You look so very lovely in your pretty maid’s out-fit. Do you like it?’

  I nodded and then performed an affirmative bob-curtsey.

  ‘You may talk, Shelly.’

  ‘Yes, mistress; I like it very much.’

  ‘Of course you do. Thanks to Senso.’

  I hesitated and then responded. ‘I liked it before Senso. Senso just makes it … better.’

  She smiled and stepped back from me, her eyes filled with an amused appraisal.

  ‘Yes, your Aunt has told me all about your eagerness for panties and hose. You were a very lucky sissy to find such an imaginative mistress so early on in your transformation.’

  I tried not to show my surprise at this new information: Ms Blakemore either knew or had been talking to my Aunt.

  ‘Yes,’ this gorgeous woman continued, her sensual shimmering eyes reading my sexed-up sissy thoughts, ‘I’ve got to know your Aunt very well over the last few weeks. She is a very impressive woman. And she has told me a great deal about you, babikins. A great deal.’

  I swallowed and tried to stifle a moan of helpless sissy pleasure. But I failed miserably and my eyes fell once again on her splendid chest.

  ‘You really are rather agitated. I think we should do something about that.’

  She turned and walked back towards the table. My eyes instinctively settled on her large round arse, its outline stretched taught against the white fabric of the Matron’s dress. From the table she took a familiar oblong metal box. My eyes widened and my moans increased. In the centre of the box was a small pink dial. She turned it with a cruel smile and I felt the vibrator that was permanently lodged in my back passage begin to buzz at a much higher level. I squealed with pleasure. She laughed and put the control box down on the table. Then she took up a larger velvet-covered box, removed the lid and revealed a dummy gag. I had not worn a dummy gag since my release from the Nursery, and the look of disappointment that filled my eyes brought a mock tut of despair.

  ‘Oh dear, little babikins doesn’t want her dummy.’

  I looked at this stunning vision of imperial female beauty and fought another moan of helpless pleasure. She laughed again and then quickly fitted the gag, its clear rubber ribbed phallic-shaped teat filling my mouth in a very complete way. She tied it in place with the two pink silk ribbons that were attached to its heart-shaped pink plastic base, leaving a fat pink bow at the base of my neck beneath the sissy tail of my pretty ponytail.

  ‘There … much better.’

  My eyes wide with desire, the vibrator boring into me, this gorgeous wicked woman towering so amply over me – once again, I was in sissy heaven.

  ‘Now,’ Ms Blakemore continued. ‘About your sexy Aunt.’

  She then proceeded to tell me that she had met Aunt Jane on at least three occasions outside of the Academy, and that they had discussed me in detail. It was clear that Ms Blakemore had been sexually attracted to Aunt Jane. My Aunt’s lesbianism had been very clearly revealed to me over the last six months, and it was something I accepted without question or judgement. She had been sexually involved with Ms Hartley and, if anything, her sexuality made her even more attractive to me. Lesbianism, it seemed, was very common among female dominants – a rather obvious, and of course deeply erotic fact.

  These two splendid powerful women had amused themselves with tales of my willing feminisation (a fact that aroused me terribly). Yet as well as the dark pleasures of transforming me into an utterly convincing and obedient she-male slave, they had also discussed, it seemed, another talent.

  ‘My Aunt told me that you can draw, Shelly.’

  I nodded, confused by this sudden change of direction.

  ‘She says that you draw very well – that you used to draw her.’

  I nodded again, the vibrator now beginning to make concentration very difficult.

  Ms Blakemore smiled. ‘In that case, we have something in common.’

  My eyes widened with a non-sexual interest that managed to cut through the sinister intruder pleasuring my widened helpless back passage.

  ‘I attended art college for two years before I decided to transfer into medicine. Perhaps I had some promise; who can tell. But my skills have come in handy here. Indeed, I’ve played a major part in helping to design the brand image of SMC, including its website. I’ve also designed quite a lot of the fetish wear that we sell via mail order.’

  I listened as well as I could, trying not to wiggle or moan, trying to keep my eyes away from Ms Blakemore’s startling bosom.


  ‘Anyway, to cut to the chase: your Aunt has shown me quite a few of your drawings. Of women, of clothes. Your little fetish masterpieces. And very impressive they are too. Your pictures are filled with an obsession, a helpless inescapable fixation. And that makes you the perfect person to help us market Senso.’

  My eyes widened further with surprise.

  ‘All the ladies agree that you and Pansy are the most impressive sissies to arrive at SMC since Christina and Annette. I think Pansy’s role will be a little less profound than yours, especially given the little passion that seems to be developing between her and Taylor. However, you, my dainty darling, really do have an important role to play in our plans for … well, world domination, I suppose.’

  Of course, the grand vision of the Bigger Picture had already been explained to me. I knew that SMC was essentially a weapon to create the basis for a new social order dominated by an elite group of women. I knew that the Bigger Picture had very powerful advocates in a number of countries, including the previous First Lady, Eleanor Groves. I also knew that the expansion of the SMC training academy model was taking place both regionally in the UK and in a number of other western and eastern countries. But how advanced the actual plans were … well, I really had no idea of the true magnitude of this great erotic conspiracy.

  ‘I need you to unleash that kinky sissy imagination of yours,’ Ms Blakemore continued, leading me over to a large white leather sofa positioned opposite the desk.

  ‘You know Senso is a major breakthrough for our ambitions. The chemical properties are truly astonishing, and the impact on the male hormonal system – well, I don’t have to tell you about that. As a weapon of control, there is nothing stronger in our arsenal than the overwhelming and uncontrollable nature of male desire itself. You are being led by your cock to total servitude, Shelly; and your sex will surely follow, if we manage this opportunity properly.’

  She sat down on the sofa and ordered me to place my hands behind my back.

  I moaned into the gag as the vibrator continued to torment me. Then, to my astonishment, Ms Blakemore slowly unbuttoned the first three buttons of the Matron’s dress, quite deliberately revealing the creamy brown edges of her splendid tightly restrained breasts. This truly astonishing and incredibly erotic spectacle inspired a particularly load moan of frustration and her cruel beautiful smile widened.

  ‘See how easy it is to control you,’ she mocked, a coolness entering her powerful gaze. ‘Resistance isn’t futile, Shelly – it’s impossible. And Senso will provide the tool to allow all men to be reduced to your level of helpless sissy submission. But the big question for us is: distribution – getting it into the market place, getting men who have no interest in panties and hose exposed to its effects and then to take control of them. Well, that’s actually not so hard. We begin with stealth: we introduce this endlessly pliable fabric, which can so easily imitate so many other fabrics, into mainstream male fashion. We design stylish, contemporary male clothing and sell it through a front company. On the face of it, a new male fashion house; in reality, a sub-company of SMC. And each item of clothing sold is cut from or mixed with Senso. This, my sweetness, is how we begin the process. Indeed, this is the way we are beginning the process as I speak. The front company is up and running and using the distribution networks established by SMC for its fetish wear and audio-visual entertainments across Europe and the United States. We already have a number of key SMC satellite units in the major western countries, and we have very significantly expanded the recruitment and education of female dominants over the last twelve months. These units are the vanguard for a much more loose-knit group of dominant cells scattered over virtually the whole of North America and a large number of European countries. It is they who will help their male partners, nephews, sons, brothers buy the Senso-infected clothing, and they who will then begin the process of subtle transformation of these males into sissy slaves. And that, dear heart, is where you come in.’

  I listened, amazed as always by the breadth and depth of the Bigger Picture conspiracy, tormented by my own desire, the desire which assured my endless and helpless need to be trapped in this intricate maze of sissification.

  ‘The costumes we have designed over the last twelve months have been very much in the classic sadomasochistic fetish wear mode. They are certainly popular, but with a rather restricted market. If we are to expand our feminisation project, we need a subtler range of sissy attire, something that perhaps reflects a more intimate view of the sissy rather than the maid or the schoolgirl or any other number of ridiculous fantasy stereotypes. We need a genuine sissy range, Shelly; original and distinct clothes for sissies, rather than uniforms. Obviously here, in this training academy, the uniform is a vital part of the educational experience. But for the future sissies … well, they need something different, my pet; they need a brand identity.’

  She sat forward and crossed her long firm legs. The skirt of her white dress rode up her broad muscular nylon-sheathed thighs and my eyes widened with a fierce submissive need. This woman was utterly gorgeous. She was my ideal in every way: ample, powerful, intelligent. An imperial beauty. I was helplessly devoted to her already.

  ‘So, you and I are going to start thinking about exactly what this brand is. We get the men into Senso menswear, then we brand them as Bigger Picture sissies.’

  I nodded my half-understanding and she laughed.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough of me talking, babikins. Now get down on your knees.’

  I spent the rest of that morning pleasuring Ms Blakemore. Like all the SMC mistresses, she was a deeply sexual woman and made sure that I demonstrated my already infamous oral skills to the full before having me returned to my quarters.

  Over the last four weeks, I have found myself spending a surprisingly significant amount of time with the glorious Ms Blakemore. At least three evenings each week have been spent in her elegant chambers on the top floor of the SMC mansion. Here, I have discovered the true power of her intellect and the spectacularly perverse nature of her desire. I have become her willing sex toy and her eager pupil; the helplessly feminine and submissive object of her most bizarre and wicked attentions.

  The first time, after our initial meeting, that I was summoned to her private chambers was relatively late on a Monday evening. After a particularly hard day of instruction and servitude, that included my first and very taxing video session with Master Bentley and Mistress Helen, I was relieved to be put to bed by Christina. By the time I was brought down from the studio, flushed, violently aroused, yet also exhausted, the lovely Pansy had already been secured in her tight Senso satin sleep-sack. She had also been panty-gagged and hooded with a pink nylon stocking. She moaned her angry and relentless need into the gag (held in place by strips of pink duct tape) and received a slap from Christina for her disruptive silliness. Within a few minutes, I was cocooned helplessly in my own pretty pink sack and moaning angrily into my own fat panty gag while Christina, as punishment for Pansy’s outburst, placed our arse vibrators on full for the entire night. Yet no sooner was I falling into the sweet delirium of my latest bondage ordeal than the door opened and Kathy, the tall very beautiful female slave of Mistress Helen, entered the room. Without any explanation, she freed me from my lovely torment (although not the tasty panty gag) and marched me from the room, much to Pansy’s annoyance, as we had both begun to snuggle up together to enjoy the kinky night ahead.

  Within a few minutes, dressed in my Senso silk pink baby doll and panties, matching Senso nylon stockings and a pair of open-toed pink feather-covered, three-inch high-heeled mules Kathy had pulled from the bedroom wardrobe, my hands tied behind my back with a white nylon stocking, my sissy lips still taped tightly shut, I was standing before Ms Blakemore’s door, my heart once again pounding with girlish anticipation.

  The door opened and I found myself facing Mistress Helen. Dressed in a tight elegant black velvet skirt, a high-necked white silk Victorian blouse and black leather ankle boots with st
riking five-inch heels, she was, without a shadow of doubt, the perfect representation of the dominatrix. I looked up at her with worshipful eyes and she smiled her slight thoughtful smile.

  ‘You look lovely, as always, Shelly. Enjoy your evening with Ms Blakemore.’

  She then floated past, leaving me enveloped in a mist of sensual rose perfume. Kathy curtsied deeply, her eyes filled with desire and love, and tottered after her beautiful all-powerful mistress.

  ‘Come in, Shelly.’

  I followed Ms Blakemore’s cool ironic voice into the chamber, wildly expectant, furiously aroused.

  Like most of the mistress rooms on the upper floors of the mansion house, Ms Blakemore’s chambers began with a relatively small semi-circular anteroom off of which were four rooms – two to the right and two to the left. In the middle of the room was a large red leather sofa and a coffee table. Resting on the coffee table were a number of books and a pile of vaguely familiar drawings.

  I wiggle-minced up to the table. As I was in my relatively scanty night wear, my angry sexual stiffness was embarrassingly apparent through the slender material of the Senso silk panties, which were themselves fully exposed thanks to the shortness of the dreadfully sexy baby doll.

  Despite having my hands tightly lashed behind my back, I performed the deepest curtsey possible and beheld the amazing image of Ms Amelia Blakemore. That night she was dressed in a black silk dress that reached just beyond her knees. With black silk tights and three-inch-heeled court shoes of black patent leather, her hair worn loose, her lips painted blood red, she looked overwhelming beautiful, her plump physique both a testimony to ample beauty and the inescapable erotic power of the truly dominant woman.