Part One: Induction

1

Trainee Housemaids

A MONTH HAS passed since our release from the Nursery. It is four weeks today since Pansy and I were freed from exquisite baby bondage and allowed to take up our new roles as trainee housemaids in the Sissy Maids Company. Under the watchful eyes of our mistresses, we have been expertly transformed into she-male slaves, our only purpose to serve and bring pleasure to womankind. We are willing slaves: this elaborate regime of female domination is one we accept with a pure fierce enthusiasm. Thanks to the careful preparations of my beautiful Aunt Jane, the glorious woman who originally feminised us and then agreed our imprisonment in this strange kinky castle of submission, we were already well versed in the perverse joys of sissy servitude.

Today is Friday, and on Friday afternoons, for a few wondrous hours, we are freed from the usual elaborate restraints that are our near constant companions and allowed to be together in a most intimate and exciting way, to be together as the sissy lovers our mistresses are so very determined we become. We are enveloped in each other’s arms on the large double bed that dominates the circular room we have shared since our release from the Nursery. I stare hungrily at Pansy’s large unrestrained sex and contemplate wrapping my cherry-red lips around the purple stem of this beautiful sex flower. I run my hands over the semi-transparent pink silk of her sexy baby doll night-dress and she moans with a dark angry pleasure. I remember the first time we experienced the joys of each other’s helplessly petite bodies when we were both still male, locked in a school storeroom, astonished by a homo-erotic need whose true expression was to be found in a regime of strict feminisation overseen by my gorgeous Aunt and Pansy’s cruel beautiful guardian, Ms Hartley. A vision of Ms Hartley’s tall prim form ignites in my tormented mind and my sex, already rock hard, seeks a place beyond rigidity, an explosive release whose final expression is something like death. I kiss Pansy’s soft moist lips and taste her own powerful need; I stare with an addict’s desperate longing into her pretty wide blue eyes and remember those incredible days leading up to our entry into the Sissy Maids Company.

Brought up by my ‘Aunt’, actually a close friend of my long-dead mother and father, I had been a pampered and isolated young man. Handsome maybe, intelligent certainly, I lived in a world dominated by my Aunt, an ex-model in her late forties who had remained stunningly beautiful. It was she who had discovered my secret longing for all aspects of the feminine and the powerful transvestite desire this inspired. And it was she who had guided me on the road from her ‘nephew’ Michael to her sissy niece, Michele, or, as I came to be known, Shelly. And it was she, as I have noted, who encouraged my strange friendship with Dominic and, with Ms Hartley’s help, his rapid transformation into Pansy. And it was she who had introduced me to the amazing Lady Emily Ashcroft and the startling conspiracy of beautiful dominant women that was the Bigger Picture.

I run my hands over Pansy’s shapely pink nylon-stockinged thighs and she moans with a kitten’s sensual animal pleasure. My hands move beyond the stocking tops to her soft silky-smooth upper thighs. She gasps and her soft submissive smile widens and the glaze of desire covering her lovely eyes thickens: the smooth utterly hairless skin of her body is ultra-sensitive thanks to the potent medical treatments of the last four weeks. Her cock twitches. My hands work towards her fat bulging testicles and the small silver ring that has been attached to the flap of skin at the base of her scrotum by her gorgeous training mistress, the fierce redheaded dominatrix Anne, one of the founders of the Sissy Maids Company. Her nipples are also ringed, and diamond studs have been fitted to her left nostril and into her unbearably cute navel. I share this elaborately kinky body decoration, thanks to the perverse creativity of my own mentor, Ms Amelia Blakemore, the School’s beautiful and endlessly imaginative matron.

I stroke Pansy’s balls and she squeals with pleasure. I think of the first time I met the amazing Emily Ashcroft and became aware of the startling project of the Bigger Picture: the complete feminisation of the male sex and the establishment of a new world order of female domination. In many ways an absurd and bizarre project that had left many powerful and foolish men laughing contemptuously. But Lady Ashcroft, a former Tory peer, was quite serious. She had left the House of Lords and sought out like-minded women across the world. And there were very many of them. Thanks to a chance encounter, she met Helen Blaine, a beautiful determined woman, who had, with the assistance of two close friends (and lovers) already started the erotic transformation of a weak but helplessly pretty male into a sissy sex slave. Indeed, Helen’s great genius had been to see, quite independently of the Bigger Picture, that there was a real commercial opportunity in the sissification of the male. In a world of violent, angry and power-hungry men, women wanted love and respect; they also wanted liberation through control. Helen had founded the Sissy Maids Company for these women. Initially, it was little more than a local neighbour-hood entertainment for her friends. Using just two transvestite slaves, SMC provided domestic and personal services for a handful of enlightened females. Yet the demand grew very quickly, and soon they were offering the services of a growing team of mainly male (but also female) slaves to women over a much broader geographical area. Thanks to the Internet and the patronage of Lady Ashcroft and her supporters, the Sissy Maids Company became a national enterprise within a year, and a crucial part of the global ambitions of the Bigger Picture. Lady Ashcroft’s spectacular country mansion became the SMC training academy, and it is in the underground chambers of this glorious house that I am now teasing my sissy love, Pansy, towards a bout of prolonged sexual adventure.

I take her large boiling hard cock in my left hand. I feel a pounding pulse. She widens her long feminine legs and raises her pert girlish bottom. I smile at her and slowly lick the blood-red-nailed index finger of my left hand. Then I slip it beneath her balls and seek out her very well-stretched and eager arsehole. Normally, our sexes would be tightly restrained with a tight pink rubber sheath and three cruel cock rings, and our arses would be firmly plugged with fat, long and very hard vibrators. But this afternoon, we are free of all restraint. Access is open and total. My finger slips into her anus and she screams with delight.

‘Oh please, Shelly … please!’

In the past few weeks, I have come to realise the true nature and size of the Bigger Picture project. At first, I took it to be a small political party with a very narrow focus, but now I understand it to be a global political movement with many powerful female members. A movement with the finances to establish sophisticated networks of enforced feminisation in every major industrial nation; a movement with access deep into established political infrastructures; a movement able to fund a research and development programme that has produced new techniques of ‘stealth feminisation’, the most striking and effective of which is Senso.

Senso is the key to it all: a fabric whose chemical make-up has been purposefully designed to impact on the hormonal balance of the male and produce feelings that associate submissiveness and feminine behaviour with sexual excitation. Senso: the fabric that will lead the Bigger Picture to eventual global domination. Senso: the fabric that is already being sold through a micro site of the SMC website – ‘Christina’s Silken Slavery’ – in the form of elaborate and beautiful fetish wear for transvestites and other slaves. A fabric that is also, thanks to Lady Ashscroft’s connections in the world of fashion and design, being secretly incorporated into a vast variety of everyday male clothing and thus establishing the psychological foundation for a truly global women’s movement. Not one based on outdated notions of equality and justice, concepts that have been blown away by the realities of modern history, but on firm concepts rooted in the control of destructive male urges and the exercise of female power through the dictatorship of the feminine. Concepts embodied in the principles of the Femocracy.

‘You know I love these moments,’ Pansy whispers, her voice hoarse with dark desire, her eyes tightly closed. ‘To be free of bondage.’

I smile and push my finger deeper. ‘But you love your bondage as well … surely.’

She gasps and returns my smile. ‘Oh yes. So very much, my love.’

Most nights, our mistresses ensure that we sleep together in this bed, but hardly ever free from restraint. No: most nights Pansy and I are secured in slender pink Senso body stockings, our cocks tightly restrained, vibrators buzzing furiously in our tender sissy arses. There a number of types of Senso, and the body stockings are cut from the type that most resembles sheer nylon. This thin delicate material torments our ultra-sensitive and utterly hairless bodies, which are much more susceptible to the chemical impact of Senso than the average male body. Even after nearly thirty nights of its special embrace, we squeal with a fundamental pleasure as the soft material is drawn up our feminised forms. Over the stockings go rubber sleep-sacks, skintight from toe to neck, imprisoning and immobilising our deliciously tormented sissy forms. In our sissy mouths are stuffed the soiled panties of our many mistresses, fat pungent gags that are held in place with thick strips of pink adhesive tape. Over our heads are pulled sheer pink Senso stockings, plunging us into a fetish wear netherworld of fierce and bottomless desire. Then, utterly helpless, driven mad by kinky she-male desire, with the vibrators buzzing at full power in our ultra-sensitised arses, we are left side by side on the bed – so close but so far – to contemplate the day’s events and the joy of our absolute and inescapable submission to womankind and the philosophy of the Bigger Picture.

I revel in the pleasure I am giving her and in my own expertly crafted femininity. Like her, I am wearing a semi-transparent baby doll. Mine is a shimmering white, as are my panties (which, unlike Pansy’s, have not been removed), and my stockings. All my sexy attire is, of course, cut from various varieties of Senso, and my silky sissy form burns with submissive feminine desire as I pleasure the gorgeous, helpless she-male beauty. Her powerful musky perfume washes over my own heavily scented form and I place another soft delicate kiss on her beautiful lips. Our tongues touch and our mouths widen. She screams with pleasure as my finger goes even deeper into her back passage, and her cock presses into my other teasing hand.

My eyes fall on the small but very apparent orbs that are her nascent breasts. A daily cocktail of hormones and other very special chemicals have seen our skin soften, our breasts grow and our hips broaden. Very soon, we will both be subject to complex surgical procedures that will leave us both with large ultra-sensitive breasts, a thought that drives me wild with sexual anticipation, and which I know Pansy is looking forward to with an equal enthusiasm.

‘I can’t wait until I can kiss your new breasts,’ I whisper, ‘until I can suckle you.’

She moans her deep inescapable need and I plant a kiss on her left rosebud through the erotic Senso material of the baby doll.

‘And I’m sure Taylor will be thrilled when he sees you fully feminised.’

She nods and smiles, her eyes wide with sex need, her mind filled with thoughts of her training master.

Under the terms of our training regime, the first four weeks have been spent as trainee housemaids. We will soon undergo a period of physical alteration – the Operation – before being entered on the full-blown maid placement scheme, and, if we perform well on our placements, we achieve full graduation. Then, it is planned that Pansy and I will be returned to Aunt Jane’s house. Here, we will help to establish a West Country branch of the Sissy Maids Company, aided by Ms Hartley and the headmistress of my ex-School, Ms Henrietta Blunt, together with Ms Blunt’s two beautiful daughters, Juliette and Justine.

As I continue to cover Pansy in sweet sissy kisses, I think of Justine. My sex twitches and stretches and a gasp of terrible need slips from my mouth. Beautiful regal mysterious Justine, a young woman of my own age, a woman who made it clear she intends to become my true and final mistress. The woman who, I know, I most love, and by whom, I know, I will eventually be totally possessed.

But then Pansy squirms in my arms and my thoughts return to this strange academy and our mistresses and masters. During the four-week trainee housemaid period, our education has been governed by three individuals: the training mistress, the training master and the sissy mentor. I have been honoured to have Mistress Helen, the Chief Executive of SMC, as my training mistress. Under her firm and deeply erotic guidance, I have learnt the true meaning of absolute submission to the glorious dominant female. A gorgeous plump brunette, with startling honey-brown eyes and a taste for intricate and bizarre bondage, Helen has summoned me to her chambers at least three evenings a week for the past month. Here I have learnt my role of slave object in a most ruthless and exciting way. It has been made clear to me that, as a sissy maid, I will never be allowed sexual union with a member of the female sex. Indeed, my only role is to provide various oral pleasures, and to act as a humbled and humiliated, yet profoundly willing maid servant. Dressed in my trainee housemaid’s uniform of a pink Senso silk dress (a gorgeous rose-patterned sissy masterpiece with long puffed sleeves and a very short petticoat-smothered skirt), a white silk pinafore, ultra sheer and seamed white Senso nylon tights and pink patent leather five-inch stiletto-heeled court shoes, my long blonde hair tied in a pretty ponytail with a sweet pink silk ribbon, my hands sealed in white glacé gloves, my ankles hobbled with a six-inch silver chain to ensure the daintiest of steps and the sexiest of wiggles, I have, on numerous occasions, minced with an increasingly instinctive femininity before this splendid beautiful woman and done her kinky bidding without even a whimper of opposition. Often tightly gagged with her panties or a fat long rubber penis gag, I have never bothered to hide the fact that I am utterly smitten by her imperial beauty and absolute incredibly elegant authority.

Helen, being a woman of the Bigger Picture, is always careful to represent her power in sexually arousing dress. There are no simplistic feministic notions of the oppression of fashion here: the mistresses glory in their sexual allure, and use it as a key weapon in their control of the weak sex-obsessed male. Thus she wears the gorgeous uniform of a subtle dominatrix: simple grey or black skirts that fall just above the knee, very tight nylon sweaters that accentuate her large shapely breasts, long perfectly formed legs sheathed in the sheerest black or grey nylon tights, three-inch-heeled black patent leather court shoes. Her thick long black hair is always bound in a tight stern bun with an elegant diamond clasp. Her full generous lips are always painted an almost shocking blood red, as are her long razor-sharp fingernails.

My greatest honour is to curtsey sweetly before her, making sure to reveal my lace-trimmed Senso silk panties, and then kneel to kiss her gleaming leather shoes, before slipping my head beneath her stylish skirt to worship her with my now expert tongue. As moans of pleasure fill her pristine chambers, I feel an overwhelming sense of love. As I taste her sweet cunt, and as her sex juices leak over my painted faced, I am lost in a state of truly selfless bliss. As she binds and gags me in strange, painful and deeply humiliating positions, leaving me exposed to the whip, her kinky hands and various wicked implements of sexual torture, I squeal my endless submissive love into my inescapable gag and feel the bottomless bliss of absolute surrender.

Each sissy trained in the SMC academy is also allocated a training master. Although a sissy’s ultimate aim is to serve her mistress in any way she sees fit, she must also have the skills to pleasure men. This is in order to ensure a true sense of servitude and to reinforce the focus of sissy pleasure on the arse and the cock.

Within the Bigger Picture, the emphasis is on the power and authority of the woman, but it is recognised that the core philosophy is one of power and control built around the rituals and practices of sadomasochism. Thus there will always be a place for the submissive female and the dominant male. Subsequently, the academy has two highly gifted training masters: Bentley and Taylor. I have been allocated to Bentley, and Pansy has been allocated to Taylor.

Bentley is a strikingly handsome Afro-Caribbean. Nearly six feet four inches tall, with a broad muscular body frame, he has been a lover of Lady Ashcroft and a professional dominant for many years. He desires and admires transvestites and is openly bisexual. Within SMC, he is the acknowledged male expert on the training of sissies, and I have had the deep and endlessly erotic pleasure of being under his strict instruction for the past thirty days.

At first, the idea of being trained by a man was the most challenging of all the requirements of my sissification within the SMC academy. My masochistic bi-sexuality had been well established by Aunt Jane and my relationship with Dominic/Pansy. But Dominic’s feminine beauty and manner and his subsequently very successful sissification put him in the highly erotic and deeply ambivalent category of she-male. There was and is nothing feminine about Bentley. His masculinity is pure and aggressively obvious. His control over me is very similar to the control of a man over a female slave. The pleasures he seeks from me are the pleasures a man would demand from a woman, pleasures I give with a helpless willingness. This was not the case at first. He is strong and stern. Like Mistress Helen, he revels in dressing me in the most dainty and outrageously sissified costumes, in exaggerating my ultra-femininity through dress, gesture, movement and perverse discipline. Attired in pretty, amazingly intricate little girl frocks of Senso satin, sheer white tights and pink Mary Janes, my hair tied in a pretty pink silk ribbon, my mouth stopped by a phallic shaped dummy gag, my head imprisoned in a gorgeous Victorian bonnet, I find myself on my hosed knees before him, my silk-gloved hands bound tightly behind my back, my nylon-sheathed ankles also tightly tethered. I face his open legs, my bottom stinging from the hard merciless spanking he has just so expertly inflicted, and I watch with wide helplessly girlish eyes as he unzips his leather trousers and slips out his huge rock-hard cock. I squeal with pleasurable anticipation into my dummy gag and wiggle my tightly plugged bottom helplessly. I know tonight I will suck this fearsome sex weapon dry and then teasingly revive it so that I can be fucked senseless.

As I torment Pansy’s sex, I remember my times with Master Bentley and feel a quiver of deep dark excitement flow through my delicately sissified body.

‘I can’t wait for Taylor to see me with pretty bouncing titties,’ she whispers, pulling herself a little further onto the bed.

I smile gently and find myself thinking of her training master. Despite Bentley’s physical strength and his absolute authority over me, I have always felt a strange gentleness in him, even when I am bound and gagged and held firmly over his powerful thighs, my panties down around my knees, my pert wobbling backside receiving a sound and merciless spanking. With Taylor, however, I have seen nothing but the cool sadistic exercise of power. In Taylor’s ice-blue eyes there is the sheer pleasure of unquestioned control. An ex-American army captain, Taylor is tall, spectacularly muscular and frighteningly hard. On the face of it, he is merely the second training master, but over the last four weeks it has become clear that he plays a much wider role in the Bigger Picture. It is well known that his original association was with no less a personage than Eleanor Groves, the ex-wife of an ex-U.S. president, and one of the most famous women in the world. Through Ms Groves’s friendship with Lady Ashcroft, Taylor, who had been her personal bodyguard, came to work for SMC. His attraction to sissies is very clear. Yet, unlike Bentley, Taylor is also a servant of women. It is obvious that he acts as Mistress Helen’s personal bodyguard and almost as her butler. It has also become clear that he services the heterosexual mistresses, particularly Lady Ashcroft and the occasionally bi-sexual Mistress Anne. It is therefore perhaps surprising that he is far harsher on the sissies, and that poor Pansy certainly suffers at his hands.

As our lips meet again, I notice a thin red line running across Pansy’s left thigh, and I know this is a fading memory of the ivory-handled riding crop Taylor uses to punish and ‘inspire’ Pansy. I also know there are a lot more of these wicked lines crossing her perfectly formed bottom. I both pity and envy her. When I am in Bentley’s powerful arms, I am always aware of his absolute control, but I also know that he is essentially a professional dominant. To him, the rituals of punishment are associated endlessly with the giving and taking of pleasure. With Taylor, this has never been the case. His commitment to domination is therefore deeply political, driven by a belief in his power and the power of the Bigger Picture. It is detached from emotion, and therefore far more dangerous. And it is this danger that arouses me, and which very clearly arouses lovely Pansy, for her feelings for Taylor are obviously deep and intensely positive. And, despite his cruel demeanour and authoritarian manner, Taylor appears to reciprocate these feelings; for it has been made very clear to all the mistresses and housemaids that Pansy is very much the sole property of Taylor. She is not be taken by anyone, except him and, perhaps strangely, me. For some reason, it seems to amuse Taylor to know that his sissy slave has a pretty, eager sissy girlfriend, a role I fulfil with a helpless enthusiasm.

As I contemplate Pansy’s sensual welts and her blissful suffering, I can’t help thinking how unlucky (and thus how very lucky) she has been with her masters and mistresses. First there was Ms Hartley, the powerful, wicked and cruel guardian who took such a dreadfully dark pleasure in her role as the co-creator of the lovely helplessly sexy ultra-feminine Pansy. Then there is cruel sadistic Taylor. And, on top of this, we have Mistress Anne.

Mistress Anne, the co-founder of SMC, a gorgeous statuesque redhead who I have never seen in a dress or a skirt, yet, despite this, an intensely feminine and very beautiful woman. A little younger than Mistress Helen, with cool emerald-green eyes, she is a figure that inspires genuine fear in all the housemaids, male and female. Often dressed in beautiful light-coloured expensive silk trouser suits and very high-heeled leather boots, her naturally long orange-red hair tied in a tight bun, she has a well justified reputation for sadistically inventive punishments, a fiery lesbian temper and a considerable sexual appetite. Poor Pansy always returns from her regular ‘training sessions’ with Mistress Anne utterly exhausted, her poor sex inevitably battered by some dark penile torture, her arse spread wide by sinister intruders, her buttocks cherry-red from harsh prolonged spankings, her lips and tongue worn to sandpaper by her mistress’s insistence on constant oral pleasuring. Yes … poor Pansy is so lucky.

Then, of course, there are our sissy mentors. Here I am, without doubt, the luckiest sissy in the world. For my mentor is the stunning Christina, the very first sissy trained by Mistress Helen. I have been her helpless admirer ever since Aunt Jane allowed Pansy and me access to the SMC website and the Silken Slavery micro site. It is Christina who has been the gorgeous icon of SMC, who has so wondrously featured in all their teasing ultra-erotic web-based marketing, who is the star attraction of so many of their very high class video productions – elegant erotic films streamed on the web and also available to buy on video/DVD. It is she who has teased me so expertly to a full realisation of my true deeply masochistic sissy personality. Over the last four weeks, we have made gentle sissy love at least twelve times, and each time it has left me in a state of soul-washed bliss.

Gorgeous perfect Christina. The senior housemaid, the sissy wife of Mistress Donna (the third of the original founder members of SMC), a tall incredibly curvaceous brunette with dark-brown eyes and the body of an ultra sex-bomb. A spectacular fantasy figure made startling reality by the techniques of the SMC. Her long perfectly formed legs always tightly sealed in the sheerest sexiest hose, her 42-inch bust, so deliberately designed by SMC, a promise of my own future transformation – ultra-sensitive pale rose orbs of sissy perfection that I have kissed and suckled with privileged lips. Her own full ruby-red lips have slipped so softly and expertly around my own paradoxical manhood and teased me to a screaming, profoundly joyous orgasm on many occasions and I have sobbed my helpless gratitude into a multitude of inescapable and relentlessly kinky gags. To be like her is all I ask.

I think of being taken by Christina and I think of bondage. Every time she has taken me, she has ensured that I have been very tightly bound and gagged. Her visits are normally announced by the arrival of Annette, Mistress Anne’s personal maid, and Christina’s long-term sissy love. She is Pansy’s sissy mentor and, perhaps unsurprisingly given her mistress, a cruel redhead with an aloof superior manner. When Christina is about to visit, Annette arrives to remove Pansy to some dark and mutually arousing entertainment while I am so very willingly ravished. I am always ‘specially prepared’. I am already dressed in a suitably alluring sissy outfit, and it is only a matter of laying me out on the bed and then securing my arms and legs, inserting a pair of soiled panties deep inside my mouth and then taping them tightly in place. Then I am left wiggling and moaning, my cock always released from its cruel and deeply erotic restraint, ready for Christina’s kinky attentions. Then she arrives, in her splendid senior housemaid’s costume: a black Senso silk dress covered in an erotically elaborate design of sparkling black roses, whose subtle outlines are only clearly visible at one particular angle under the powerful light of our room. This dress appears painted to her fabulous body, its tight unforgiving journey over her incredible chest marked by a terribly erotic and real tension between discomfort and erotic embrace. Over the dress is secured a gorgeous white Senso silk lace-edged pinafore, with her name printed in elegant red letters across its chest. The pinafore is tied tightly in place with a huge sissy bow at the base of her spine. Beneath the very short dress is an ocean of layered frou-frou petticoating, through which a pair of lace be-frilled satin panties are clearly visible. Her legs are wrapped tightly in sheer black Senso nylon tights with narrow perfectly straight seams that trace an erotic pathway leading straight to her gloriously plump but also exquisitely shaped bottom. Her small girlish feet are elegantly imprisoned in sparkling black patent leather court shoes with striking five-inch heels. On the pointed toe of each elegant shoe is a small diamond rose. Her long thick jet-black hair is bound in a very tight perfectly formed bun held in place by a diamond clasp that is made up of letters that spell the word ‘Chrissie’. Fitted carefully to the top of this wondrous hair sculpture is a small lace-trimmed maid’s gap with two silk ribbon tails that run down the back of her head. Her lips are, as always, painted a deep cherry red and coated in a sparkling gloss that turns every smile into a sensual promise of forbidden pleasure. Around her perfect swan neck is tied a black velvet choker, with a blood red ruby centrepiece that exactly matches her shimmering teasing lips.

She looks down upon me with sex-fired honey-brown eyes, her envelopment in Senso ensuring that her gorgeous she-male body is trapped in a tight film of merciless sexual need. I moan helplessly into the fat panty gag filling my own sissy mouth, the taste of what I know by sweet experience is Mistress Helen’s cunt adding to this moment of pure erotic bliss. She smiles slightly and moves towards me with the elegant grace of an expertly trained sissy maid. I know that beneath the lovely dress is a further array of spectacularly restrictive femininity: a tight red and black whale-boned corset that holds her slender sissy waist within a cruel but incredibly exciting embrace, a delightful Senso silk brassiere that torments her ultra-sensitive and very large breasts, leaving her feeling as if her boobs are being teased by a hundred pairs of sissy lips every second of every hour of the day. And over all this, a short black silk petticoat, a teasing Christmas present from her own true love, Mistress Donna, the absolute empress of her body and soul.

I meet her stunning soul-melting gaze and squeal with a terrible girlish desperation into the gag. Her beautiful smile widens and she carefully sits down beside my tethered form on the bed, her short skirts rising as she does so to reveal a detailed glimpse of her gorgeous Senso silk panties, with the outline of her large tightly restrained cock clearly visible. During previous visits, it has been obvious the restrainer has been removed by Mistress Helen (the only person other than Mistress Donna allowed to do so), and that, as a consequence, I should expect to be fucked hard and long, a pleasure Christina has showed me is both explosively immediate and, given the right lover, darkly subtle. But today – the day that replays in my dreams – she has come to milk me, to indulge a passion for oral sex that is drilled into each sissy maid from the very first day free from the inducting pleasures of the Nursery. So, I am to be given a terrible profound pleasure and also give pleasure to one of my numerous sissy lovers. I moan with a feverish anticipation into the panty gag and await my glorious fate.

And now, as I prepare to slip my own carefully painted lips over Pansy’s hard hungry tool of love, I feel my own tethered sissified sex stretch angrily in its merciless rubber restrainer, held so tightly in place by the cruel cock rings, each marked with the black rose logo of the SMC, and know that I have reached the very edge of my true self; that I have taken a long strange journey from being the spoilt feminine ‘nephew’ of a beautiful, loving and very dominant Aunt to being a very pretty, soon be utterly convincing she-male slave bound and tightly gagged to a vast conspiracy of gorgeous, dominant and very powerful women. This journey has reached its final section. In the last four weeks, I have learnt to consolidate and develop the skills I began to learn under the watchful and expert eye of my Aunt. Possessed of a natural feminine grace, I have passed every deportment test with flying colours. As I wiggle-mince around the training chambers and private rooms of the SMC academy, my hosed knees and ankles never more than a few inches apart, my pert, shapely and very tightly pantied bottom wiggling helplessly beneath the sea of frou-frou petticoating, the eyes of my mistresses and the other maids are helplessly drawn to my perfect deeply erotic grace. As I walk in the highest of heels, my white nylon-sheathed thighs rubbing together, I wish so very very much I had breasts, and I so desperately look forward to the day when I will have them. I remember when Christina first revealed her perfect ample bosom to me and whispered her joy at their beauty and teasing sensitivity, then gasped with a pleasure I so very much wanted to be my own as I pressed my lips to each long hard nipple and sucked hungrily on her feminine perfection. Yes, breasts will be the final finishing touch to my intricate physical transformation. They will also provide me with the perfect counterpoint to the helplessly erotic gyrations of my bottom. Then, I will truly be able to walk like a woman.

Yet it is not just movement that has been learnt and perfected. The domestic skills taught under my Aunt’s exciting guidance have been very finely honed, and I am now an expert ironer, cleaner and washer. My deep transvestite fetishism has been a major learning tool in my significant expertise in feminine fashion. Always interested in the trappings of femininity – an interest expertly manipulated and developed by my Aunt – I now find myself in sole charge of Mistress Helen’s wardrobe, a wondrous privilege rather than a job, and Pansy and I, when not tightly gagged, spend much of our free time talking obsessively about the treasures contained in our mistresses’ wardrobes. We even have highly erotic conversations about the various types of panty gags we are forced to wear. Indeed, it was one such highly charged hoarsely whispered conversation that inspired our current bout of slow-burning furious lovemaking.

As I finally wrap my lips around Pansy’s hot hard twitching cock and taste her salty sweaty flesh, I know that I am almost deliriously happy, that, in my mistresses’ hands, I have become my true inescapable self. I think of the skills I have learnt, the skills of movement and servitude, and the sexual skills. Yes, these are all so much at the heart of the new personality that is Shelly. But they are only the parts of a greater whole, the work of sissy art that is the personality and body that I am becoming. And it is as I think of this work of art, that I think of Ms Blakemore, the School’s beautifully plump and gifted Matron, and the woman who, after my glorious, much-missed Aunt, I have come to most admire and who has, undoubtedly, had the biggest influence on me. As Pansy squeals with a volcanic wordless pleasure as I feel her cock expand to breaking point, I think of Ms Blakemore with the most affection and, without doubt, the most desire. For it is she who has taught me about the amazing entirety of my she-male self, the happiness of absolute submission to the Bigger Picture and thus the ecstasy of surrender to all womankind.

2

Ms Blakemore

AS PANSY’S CUM explodes into my mouth, as I taste the salty nectar of her darkest desire and swallow it with a now very familiar enthusiasm, I remember my days with Ms Blakemore. As poor Pansy squeals with uncontrollable and savage pleasure, the gorgeous ample form of Ms Blakemore fills my helplessly sissy mind, emerging from this whirlpool of memories like a black angel from a sea of sex.

She is probably no more than 35. Born on the island of Grenada, but brought up in the United States, she is a stunning Afro-Caribbean beauty, with milk-chocolate skin, large fiercely intelligent and very dark brown eyes, and full perfectly formed lips (always painted the darkest and bloodiest of reds). Her naturally straight hair is a shimmering jet, thick and long, but often tied in a tight bun. She is nearly six feet tall, and this helps balance what is undoubtedly a very plump physique. But in her ample frame are very apt proportions: broad strong hips, long surprisingly shapely legs, splendidly large but firm breasts and a beautiful if helplessly chubby face. A frame that is at its most striking in the erotic uniform of SMC Matron: a tight knee-length white dress with a button-up front, very sheer white nylon tights, and matching white patent leather court shoes with cruel and terribly exciting six-inch heels. A figure of startling maternal power, we were first introduced to her during the bizarre and delightfully kinky induction undertaken in the School’s wickedly erotic Nursery. Strangely, she had played only a slight part in our induction, the majority of the supervision having been undertaken by Christina and Annette. Yet as soon as I was out of Nursery and undergoing the early stages of my sissy maid training, I was summoned to her office, which was directly next door to the Nursery.

I had been working in the laundry room when Annette entered the large warm sweet-smelling room filled with washing machines, dryers and great piles of our mistresses’ clothing (which we care for with a helpless deeply fetishistic fascination) and told me that I was to report to Ms Blakemore immediately. As trained, I curtsied deeply before the gorgeous cruel-eyed redhead, who was already forming a very strong and sado-erotic bond with Pansy. I then followed her from the room and down the long hallway off which were the main underground sissy training facilities of the SMC academy, including the movement studio (where I had been taught further refinements to my sissy deportment by the very pretty, gentle-hearted Mistress Donna), the dressing and make-up training rooms (where Mistress Anne and Annette had been far less understanding), the classrooms (where we received lectures and instruction on the philosophy of the Bigger Picture and our role in the greater scheme of things), the kitchen and domestic training suite (where we were so ably instructed by Christina), the trainee maid quarters and the Nursery, the domain of the gorgeous Ms Blakemore.

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.