Sons into Daughters

by Christina Shelly

 

Chapter 1

Revenge

Mrs Noble opens the door and smiles warmly at Mrs Lane, her next door neighbour of the last six months.

'Everything went as planned, Debbie. Heather is upstairs with them now, adding the finishing touches.'

Debra Lane, a tall, plump, but very attractive blonde in her late forties returns Helen Noble's smile and steps into the hallway. The two women then embrace and kiss, a long, slow, passionate kiss that signals their newly discovered and profound sexual partnership. As they withdraw from this erotic embrace, Debra releases an almost helpless moan of pleasure.

'You're so beautiful, Helen. I'm so lucky to have found you. And now everything is finally working out with the boys, too. All thanks to you and Heather.'

Helen Noble, an equally plump, but also truly beautiful brunette in her early fifties, blushes with genuine modesty.

'Without your help Debbie, we wouldn't have been able to do anything with them.'

Debra's lovely smile widens and she takes Helen's warm, elegant hands in her own, her sky blue eyes filled with a deep, almost desperate need. Helen then leads her new lover into the living room.

'I can't wait to see them,' Debra whispers, her eyes caressing Helen's impressive figure. Despite her fifty odd years, Helen is a truly gorgeous spectacle. Dressed in a tight black sweater, a knee-length black and white check skirt, very sheer black nylon stockings and black patent leather, high heeled court shoes, she resembles a particularly beautiful school mistress, especially now that her long, thick black hair is bound tightly in a very strict bun held in place by a diamond studded clasp.

'We'll go up in a minute,' Helen replies, her own eyes fixed on Debra's lovely body, which today is clad in a simmering, semi-transparent white silk blouse that perfectly reveals the lace trimmed cups of her bra and the two large, soft breasts they contain, a surprisingly short black skirt which displays her long, very shapely, black nylon sheathed legs to perfection, and a pair of stiletto heeled mules.

She stares lovingly at Debra's substantial breasts, and memories of the previous torrid night of passion come flooding back. Giddy with desire, she takes a freshly opened bottle of chilled white wine from the living room table and fills two glasses. She passes a glass to her lover and proposes a toast.

'To Prissy and Chrissy!'

Debra smiles and raises her glass. 'Yes, to our new sissy sons.'

Helen laughs. 'Not sons, now, Debbie.'

'No,' Debra replies, 'of course not. To our new sissy daughters!'

The beautiful women laugh even louder and raise their glasses, their eyes meeting and finding a powerful, deeply sexual love.

As they drink, there is a brief, contemplative silence, a silence filled with memories of their two very wayward teenage sons. Patrick, Debra's son, aged 15, and Christopher, Helen's son, who will be 16 next week. Sons who, individually, have been terrible tests for two single mothers, but together have become truly dreadful monsters, evil twins of misrule who have plagued their parents and the whole neighbour with constant bad behaviour, who have bullied poor Heather, Christopher's sister, so intensely that, even though she is two years older, the unfortunate girl has recently suffered a minor breakdown and sought psychiatric advice. And it was this moment, now some six weeks ago, that had inspired Helen to say to Heather and Debra, 'If only they'd been girls.' Those fateful words echo down the last few weeks to the point of this merry toast; words that inspired a plan to transform their naughty, aggressive, angry sons into submissive, passive, well behaved daughters; or rather, deliberately designed she-males sentenced to sissy subjugation and servitude.

For the last six weeks, the three females have been secretly preparing for the transformation of Patrick and Christopher into Prissy and Chrissy. With the help of a number of close friends in the neighbourhood, a whole sissy wardrobe has been prepared. The women have also designed and overseen the construction of a special nursery, a complex piece of construction which has been kept from the two sons via the disguise of turning Helen's cellar into a spare room. Such is Patrick and Christopher's indifference to the world around them, they have paid very little attention to the work being undertaken by a firm of builders owned by a very sympathetic neighbour, a neighbour whose own property had recently been damaged by the twisted actions of the two crazed teenagers. In addition to these secret preparations, the women have also arranged for the boys to be removed from their local school. Christopher is only a few months from completing his final year, whereas Patrick still has another year to go, but the school authorities, in particular the sorely tested headmistress, are more than happy for the two to be taken into "private tuition". Then there are the rest of the neighbours, the real victims of the two teenagers' reign of terror. As well as the builder, there are the local teenage girls, all of whom have been terrorised at some point or other by Pat and Chris, and, of course, the long suffering mothers of these much abused girls. All have been informed of the plan and all have very willingly helped when required. And, later this afternoon, there will be a very special party to introduce Prissy and Sissy to the womenfolk of the neighbourhood.

'Well then,' Helen purrs, her eyes burning with a deep, triumphant pleasure, 'let's go meet the girls.'

She then leads her lover to Heather's bedroom. As Debra follows the lovely Helen, her heart pounding with delighted anticipation, she finds herself recalling the last twenty four hours. How the two boys had been persuaded by Heather to come into the house to share an elicit bottle of cider, not knowing that the alcohol was laced with a very powerful sleeping drug, a drug that had quickly left them both unconscious and likely to remain so for many hours. How the three women had then carefully stripped the boys naked and put their discarded clothing in one of the many packing crates now filled with the all their male clothing and possessions, and which would soon be given to a suitably obscure charity. How they had so painstakingly washed the boys and used a very potent hair removal cream to rid their surprisingly girlish physiques of every inch of body hair. (The cream ensured there wouldn't be a sign of even a speck of hair for at least a week, which allowed plenty of time to arrange a permanent denuding.) How they had covered the boys' bodies in a positive ocean of powerful feminine perfumes and taken them to Heather's bedroom. How they had dressed them in their new sissy costumes.

The dressing had been terribly exciting and also deeply amusing. But before the lovely sissy clothes, there had been the more intimate items of feminine control: the cherry red rubber cock re-strainers that had been carefully eased over their sexes and secured with special metal rings snapped into place around their testicles; the hot pink rubber phalluses that had been slipped between their surprisingly pert buttocks with the aid of large amounts of KY jelly. The special, ultra tight pink rubber panties pulled over their now silky smooth legs and positioned around their slender waists.

Then there had been the gorgeous sissy attire. First, special, strengthened panty girdles, whose tough elastane waists had reached up beyond their babyish navels. Then the pink nylon tights, rolled with some care and effort up the legs of the two unconscious youths. And after the tights, the gorgeous white silk panties covered in row upon row of beautiful French lace. Then gorgeous, leather reinforced, pink rubber mini corsets, which had been tightly secured around their waists and embraced their slender torsos from just above the lovely panties up to their soon to be rouged (and eventually pierced) nipples.

And after this mass of sissy underwear, there were truly spectacular dresses. Each made from stunning hot pink satin, with long, puffed arms whose wrists, very high button up necks and very short skirts were ringed with thick white lace frills. Sown into each skirt were layers of thick pink lace petticoating, and each bodice area was covered in a subtle pattern of pink silk roses.

Dressed in this pretty, deeply humiliating costume, the boys, who were now well on the way to becoming a very special kind of girl, had been placed on the bed side by side and left to sleep until the morning.

Heather, a huge smile of contentment and anticipation lighting up her face, had gone to Christopher's much larger bedroom (now to be her own) and very quickly fallen asleep. But Helen and Debra had found themselves face to face outside Heather's bedroom, their eyes locked together. They had embraced and kissed; then they had rushed to Helen's bedroom.

The three women returned to what had been Heather's bedroom (and would now become a very special "training room") just as the hallway clock struck 7.00am. The vaguely stirring boys had been helped from the bed and into two very high-backed chairs placed before Heather's elegant dressing table mirror. Here, as they fought to retain consciousness, their sissy bodies carefully strapped to the chairs, the women had set to work transforming their faces.

First, there was a very special thick white foundation cream spread across every inch of their faces, giving them the look of china dolls. The cream, like all the make up they applied, had been chemically enhanced to give it the water resistant qualities of dye. It could not be removed by simple washing or by the effects of perspiration. Indeed, the only way it could be removed was through the application of a powerful, specially designed cleansing gel.

Once the new born sissies faces were covered, their eyelids were painted a bright hot pink that matched exactly the spectacular dresses. Long false eyelashes were fixed to their half-open eyes. Each gleaming snow coloured cheek was covered in a precise circle of hot pink rouge. Their soft lips were painted the same shade of sissy hot pink and diamond stud, clip on earrings were attached to each of their ears.

The boys now looked exactly as their mothers had intended: intricately feminised young males, very girlish boys, very delicate teenage sissies. This was because, initially, there was to be no pretence regarding their true sex, no clever wigs and padded bras. For the first few months of their ordeal, Prissy and Sissy were to wear their hair very short and their slender figures were to remain blatantly male. Thus, at least initially, everyone would be able to see that these two young men were undergoing a very severe form of petticoat punishment, that there were not truly girls, but rather pathetic, helpless, ultra- sissy she-males. This was to be the first humiliating stage of their transformation.

Satisfied by their handiwork, the women then returned their drugged and still semi-conscious captives to the bed. Debra, after kissing her new lover on the cheek, left to make arrangements for the party due to be held later that day. Helen and Heather then set about restraining their new sissy charges.

First they slipped very high heeled, pink patent leather ankles boots over their new daughters' hosed feet. Through small eyelets fixed to the side of each boot, they passed a slender silver chain, which was locked in place with a tiny silver padlock. This left only six inches of slack between each boot. Then they slipped intricate, rubber lined, fingerless mittens of hot pink satin over the sissies hands and tied them in place at the wrists with thick white ribbons. Then restraining belts were produced. Made from thick, pink leather, they were wrapped around each she-male's waist and buckled tightly in place. Secured to the front of each belt were two very short lengths of chain, which were in turn attached to two matching pink leather shackles. These were quickly slipped around the sissies wrists and then tightly buckled in place. Finally, as the unfortunate youths now very pretty eyes began to flutter open, two large pacifiers were produced. Each had a huge, orb-shaped rubber teat fixed to a curved plastic base. Attached to each side of the base was a long length of cream-coloured silk ribbon. The teats were forced into the captive's mouths and the plastic bases were pressed against their painted lips. The inside of each plastic base was lined with a powerful adhesive tape, which sealed the dummy tightly in place. An added security was provided by tying the silk ribbons in a fat bow at the back of each sissy's head.

Helen smiled at her beautiful daughter. 'They'll be fully conscious in a few minutes. I'll leave the rest of the preparations to you. I suggest you exact some well-earned revenge - the crop is in my room, on the bed. Perhaps six cuts each on the thighs when they start protesting. I'll be back with Debbie just before lunch.'

And now, just before lunch time, they return. Approaching the bedroom, they hear the angry, pained squeals of their sissified sons. As Helen opens the door, the squeals become louder, much more desperate - pleas for release from a terrible, bizarre fate. But there will be no release.

Helen walks into the room. Heather is standing by the two intricately feminised boys, a proud, wicked grin lighting up her lovely face. The boys are sitting on the edge of the bed, tears pouring from their terror and anger filled eyes. They look surprisingly pretty, and Debra, following Helen into the room, is very keen to loudly announce this awful fact.

Heather has made the boys' sissy appearance even more delightfully humiliating by fitting to each unfortunate a huge, be-frilled baby girl's bonnet made from the same hot pink material as the lovely dress. Each bonnet has been tied in place at the chin with a huge baby bow of gorgeous hot pink silk.

As they see their mothers, the "boys" release a series of even louder and more desperate sissy squeals from behind the fat dummy gags that so effectively fill their mouths. Their tear-logged eyes plead for release from the ultra-humiliating costumes and they wiggle angrily in their strange sissy bondage. But instead of words of comfort from their mothers, they receive only laughter and cruel teasing. And it is only now that both realise they are the victims of three angry women who wish to extract a very long-term revenge.

'They look positively divine!' Debra exclaims, to poor Patrick's utter horror.

'They struggled quite a bit when they first came round,' Heather says, taking up a vicious looking ivory handled riding crop and bringing it down hard on the boys' thighs in order to silence their sissy squeals. 'But I took your advice and gave them both a sound thrashing. As neither of them can walk unassisted in the heels and hobble chain, or use their hands, well…it soon became clear a form of reluctant obedience was the best way to avoid more pain.'

Now sobbing pathetically, Patrick and Christopher stare angrily down at their delicately hosed and stinging thighs, too humiliated to gaze up at their conspiring mothers, too frightened of Heather and her crop to make any more useless protests.

Heather, dressed in a red silk blouse, a black leather mini skirt, very sheer black tights and high heels, her own striking jet hair flooding like a lake of black gold over her shapely shoulders, is quite radiant. Her lovely brown eyes burn with power and triumph. Helen is so very happy for her, and so very satisfied that their plans for the boys have got off to such a wonderful start.

Meanwhile Debra has strolled over to Patrick and, to his renewed outrage, started to fuss with his bonnet and complement him on his appearance. Helen, following her lover's example, moves closer to Patrick (who is blushing furiously and avoiding her gaze). She then addresses them both.

'You've only got yourselves to blame for this,' she snaps, her gaze hard, cold, utterly unforgiving. 'You've made your sister's life a nightmare, humiliated your mothers, and terrorised the entire neighbourhood. It's a miracle the police haven't been called.

Now it's time for your lives to become a nightmare, for you to be humiliated, and for us to terrorise you. But not with horrible male-style aggression. No, we're going to use more subtle, much more effective methods, methods you're already experiencing. Put simply, you will now live as sissified she-males, boys who will be dressed and treated like little girls at all times. Boys permanently feminised and under the strict control of women. Namely, Mrs Lane, Heather and myself. But also, over the coming weeks and years, all the other women you have wronged on so many occasions.'

As Helen details their fate, the boys eyes finally move towards her, eyes filled with a new, deeper terror inspired by the simple, inescapable truth of their sissy future. Yet now there is no protest, only an increased flow of tears and a desperately doomed sobbing.

"Today you will be reborn in a realm of pure sissidom,' Helen continues. "Patrick will become Prissy and Christopher will become Chrissy. You will be dummy gagged most of the time, as none of us has any interest in anything you might have to say, although your mouths will be freed at feeding times (when you will receive a baby bottle filled with milk, plus standard meals of a very special sissy mush). Also, there may be the odd occasion when your mouths are used to give your various mistresses pleasure. And, for your amusement, there will be other types of gag to experience.

As you can no doubt feel, your male privates have been tightly sealed up. The rubber sex glove prevents a full erection and will remain in place at all times. Special filters have been sown into the heads to allow you to use your potties without removing the restrainers. You will be allowed no form of sexual release, other than a weekly milking carried out by either myself or Mrs Lane; although in the longer term, we may permit you to find pleasure in each other, but this will very much depend on your progress. Also, your bottoms will be permanently plugged, accept for toilet purposes at the beginning and end of each day. Over the coming months, longer, fatter plugs will be inserted, to ensure you never get too used to that particularly intimate and humiliating intrusion, and that a standard level of disciplining discomfort is maintained."

The poor victims are now lost in a hopeless, bitter silence, too stunned even to sob.

'Although you will be permanently sissified, we have no intention of allowing you to waste time sitting around looking pretty. You will earn your sissy livings acting as our house maids. You will be responsible for all the cleaning, washing, ironing and any other appropriate work required in this house and in Mrs Lane's house. In addition, you will be rented you out to our neighbours. Thus, not only will you repay us with domestic labour, but we will make money from your constant and elaborate humiliation.

You will be supervised by Heather for your domestic duties and a suitable uniform will be provided. You will also act as our personal maids. Prissy will serve me and Chrissy will serve Mrs Lane. This will involve assisting us with bathing, dressing, looking after our clothing and, now and again, providing various forms of sexual relief."

The sissies eyes widen in amazement at this last sentence.

"Discipline will be strict and constant. The crop will be the standard means of short-term punishment, but we have also designed a variety of more longer-term punishments for more serious misbehaviour. You will be hobbled, chained and mittened permanently, as we are sure you are even now planning some form of escape. As you will also be almost constantly gagged, especially when in each other's company, a joint bid is most probably impossible.

In a little while, you will be led down to the nursery, which is to be your new accommodation.'

There follows a moment of strange, gloomy silence, a moment of coming to terms with a truly dreadful reality, a moment before Heather waves the crop threateningly and pulls poor Prissy to his feet. With Helen and Debra's help, Chrissy is also hauled up. Then, the two unfortunate sissies are led from the room, tottering on perilously high heels, taking desperate, tiny mincing steps because of the hobble chain, their sweetly pantied bottoms wiggling with helpless, feminine desperation. And as they start to realise just how difficult it will be to walk in the heels and chains, with the belts, with the fat plugs that are rammed so deeply into their tender sissy arses, they get a terrible glimpse of the future. Then sad, pathetic whimpers of defeat and despair begin to leak from their well gagged, painted mouths and the flow of girlish tears returns.

It takes nearly thirty minutes to get to the door that leads to the cellar, a very painful thirty minutes thanks to Heather's inspiring use of the crop. Debra opens the door and flicks on a light to reveal the steep steps that lead down into the sissies new home. And it is another ten minutes before the two helpless, sobbing she-males are able to see the full extent of the work that has been carried out on the cellar, work that has transformed the cavernous room into a vast sissy nursery.

The first thing the two unfortunates notice is a very powerful white strip light that has been fitted to the ceiling, a light that reveals a long rectangular room now painted a very bright pink. The floor has been covered in a thick, extra fluffy white carpet.

A spectacular set of gleaming white wardrobes, plus two large chests of drawers have been built into one entire wall of the room. Attached to the opposite wall is a set of shelves loaded with a vast array of bizarre, terrifying devices: rubber tubes, rolls of masking tape, piles of thick, extra large nappies, coils of rubber cording, baby's bottles, more elaborate dummy gags, leather collars, more shackles, more cock restrainers, some lined with tiny pins, much larger rubber phalli (some thickly ribbed), jars of vaseline and skin irritant; an endless collection of sissification tools that inspire amazed and horrified looks from the sissies and much cruel laughter from their new mistresses.

In the centre of the room is a very large, white cot, an adult sized baby's bed made from gleaming metal. Yet not just adult sized: this is a double cot, with a pink rubber wrapped double mattress. Both sides of the cot are protected by metal bar fencing, which can be lowered to admit the sissies. At the foot of the mattress are two very fat, white silk encased pillows and a number of neatly folded white silk sheets. To the sissies increased horror, there are also pink leather shackles fitted to the top, middle and bottom of each side of the mattress.

Beyond the cot is a large, very ornate dressing table with a huge oval mirror. Placed before the dressing table are two white leather backed stools. On the table are a vast variety of make up items and perfumes.

The two sissies are led over to the stools. They are then carefully positioned upon them, so that they are facing their mothers, who are now standing by the long white doors of the huge wardrobe.

'This is your new home, and these are your lovely new clothes,' Debra announces in a deliberately mocking manner, pulling back one of the sliding doors to reveal a long row of spectacular sissy dresses. There are maybe 30 separate dresses, of many different colours, and there are two of each type.

'One for every occasion,' Debra continues in a cruel, teasing voice, her lovely eyes filled with a terrible, vengeful desire. 'Plus drawers packed with lovely stockings, tights, knickers, petticoats, panty girdles, corsets; plus a huge array of baby attire – more nappies, plastic and rubber panties, socks, woollen stockings, romper suits. Just too much to mention, really. And all yours, my darlings. Aren't you sooo lucky!'

'And there's loads of pretty shoes, my baby sweets,' Helen adds, imitating Debra's manner exactly as she pulls open another door to reveal row upon row of booties, Mary Janes and stiletto heeled ankle boots.

'But we'll save those for later,' Debra continues. 'You look lovely just the way you are for now.'

Helen then opens a door very close to the wardrobe and reveals a beautiful, pink tiled bathroom, complete with a very large shower stall covered by a rubber curtain decorated with smiling teddy bears.

All three women burst out laughing as poor Chrissy begins to cry angrily once again, his tear filled eyes wild with fresh outrage, his pretty rouged cheeks bulging, the fat dummy gag turning his protest into useless, girlish squeals, his daintily bonneted head shaking with fury and fear.

'Oh dear, baby Chrissy is all upset!' Helen teases. 'Perhaps she needs a little while in the play pen to calm her down.'

'Yes, let's put them both in there until the party,' Heather says, her own eyes full of sadistic glee.

Debra agrees. 'That's a good idea. We need at least an hour to get sorted upstairs.'

By this time poor Prissy has also started to renew his protests. But they are, of course, quite usless. Heather steps forward and uses the crop mercilessly on their hosed knees. Both sissies squeal with added fury and real pain. Then they are hauled to their feet by their grinning mothers and led to a previously un-noticed and very large white wooden playpen in a corner of the room.

Heather opens the pen's wooden gate and the sissies, tottering desperately and still squealing angrily, are pushed inside.

The playpen is circular and very high. A white rubber mat, decorated with a design of pink roses, covers it's base. Helen and Debra force their squealing she-sons into the centre of the pen. Heather then enters armed with numerous lengths of pink silk ribbon. The two mothers take a length each and carefully kneel down by their intensely humiliated, angry and delicately sissified sons. They then set about binding their stockinged ankles very tightly together with the ribbons. Heather distributes more lengths and soon the poor she-males' knees and thighs are also lashed tightly together. Then Helen and Debra force their tethered sons to kneel, so that they are directly facing the two beautiful, mature and utterly merciless women. The poor sissies unleash a new torrent of outraged, helplessly girlish squeals through their fat dummy gags, but are unable to resist. As they are lowered into position, their short skirts rise up around their hosed thighs and expose their pretty, frilly knickers through transparent clouds of petticoating. As they fall reluctantly into the kneeling position, the heels of their lovely ankle boots press painfully into their pantied buttocks and squeals of anger turn into whimpers of pain. Their discomfort is ignored by their mothers, who are now kneeling by the sissies sides and working mittened hands out of leather shackles. But this is not to free their sons: as soon as their tightly mittened hands are released, they are forced painfully behind the boys' backs and then bound together at the wrists and elbows. And, as a final, painful touch, a further length of ribbon is used to bind their tethered wrists to their trussed ankles, thus forcing the heels even deeper into their tormented backsides and also securing them in an inescapable kneeling hogtie.

Yet even this is not the end of their bondage ordeal. For as soon as they are secured, Heather produces two lengths of pink coloured, rubber coated cord. Helen takes the lengths of cord from her daughter and slips the first one through the left shackle attached to Prissy's belt. She then runs it through the right shackle of Chrissy's belt and pulls the two ends of the cord tautly together between the sissies before tying it a very tight knot, thus forcing one side of the two sissies very closely together. She then repeats the procedure with the second set of shackles, and soon the poor sissies have been bound tightly together, their chests forced up against each other, the tips of their wicked dummy gags touching.

The two deeply reluctant she-males struggle desperately, but the combination of the severe sitting hog tie and the cords pulling them so intimately together, makes any real movement impossible. Instead, all they can do is whimper and squeal and wiggle. Yet the more they wiggle, the closer they are pulled together!

The three women step out of the pen and Heather locks the gate. They observe the bound, gagged, babified she-males with cruel, amused smiles.

'That should keep them entertained for an hour," Helen says, inspiring general laughter.

'And they look so sweet together,' Heather teases, inspiring an angry squeal from her she-brother, Chrissy. 'Like two sissy lovers.'

'I think we can make them look even sweeter,' Debra adds, taking a rectangular, black metal box from a pocket in her skirt.

'What an excellent idea,' Helen agrees, her cruel smile widening.

Debra holds the box up so that the two tethered sissies can just about see the strange device. At the top of the box is a small plastic dial, and in the middle are three plastic buttons.

'The box controls the plugs,' Debra explains, 'which, in turn, will help control you.'

The poor sissies squeals diminish considerably at the mention of the painful anal plugs lodged deep in their backsides. Their eyes fill with a very real horror and their struggles cease.

'The plugs,' Debra continues, 'are rather clever little things. They have an electronic sensor which allows remote control of a number of very interesting features. Thus, using the dial and the appropriate button, they can be made to vibrate at different strengths. They can also be made to emit a powerful skin irritant and to heat up. Again, the level of irritant and temperature can be controlled by the dial. This multi-functional feature will be a key part of your training.'

As Debra details the wicked ingenuity of the plugs, tears return to the poor sissies girlish eyes and moans of despair fight to escape their tight, fat, deeply humiliating dummy gags.

'We thought it would be nice,' Helen says, 'to let you experience the positive side of the plugs while we prepare for your little Coming Out party.'

Debra then presses the top button and slowly turns the dial towards the middle of its range. The sissies stare at each other in horror, waiting with appalling trepidation for the torture to begin.

Yet this is no torture. Deep within their back passages, the plugs begin to throb gently, then to vibrate. The sissies eyes widen, they squeal. They try desperately to free themselves from their terrible babified bondage. But they can hardly move an inch, and their renewed struggles only pull them closely together and push their pantied buttocks deeper and harder into the heels of the dainty ankle boots.

Slowly their struggles lessen. The vibrations quickly drill to the very core of their bodies and send irresistible waves of a very powerful pleasure flowing across their babified forms. Soon, struggles turn to an unavoidable writhing. Try as they might, the two reluctant she-males are helplessly aroused by the wicked teasing of the vibrating plugs. And as they writhe, they cannot avoid pressing their bodies and the tips of their fat dummy gags tightly together, and their wide, sex filled sissy eyes meet. As much as they want to escape this ultra-humiliating fate, they cannot help but surrender to the pleasure of the vibrations. And soon even the question of escape has faded from their minds, and they are staring into each other's eyes with an intense sexual arousal.

And inevitably, each sissy's penis is soon stiffening in the tight rubber re-strainers; although, ultimately, only a rather painful three-quarter erection is possible. Yet, due to the way they are forced together, even a three-quarter erection presents an embarrassing predicament. Very quickly each becomes intimately aware of the other's tumescence and new squeals of outrage are soon fighting to escape the gags. They once again wiggle desperately but uselessly, trying to escape this dreadfully intimate humiliation. But, as before, the more they wiggle, the quicker they are overwhelmed by new levels of intense physical pleasure, and the less they protest. And soon, rather than muffled despair, their fat, tight gags are holding back a powerfully renewed and well-muffled excitement - strange, girlish moans of pleasure. But even as they surrender to this new, decidedly kinky pleasure, both fight pathetically and uselessly to control it, to reject it, to focus on the bizarre, wicked fate that is being planned for them and the horror this inspires. Yet reason is always a poor second to desire for any male, and it isn't very long before all thought of resistance has finally been overcome by mutual pleasure and they are writhing gently together, their wide sissy eyes filled with desire and absolute surrender.

'Well, that seems to have quietened them down,' Helen says, a smile of quiet triumph lighting up her beautiful face. 'I suggest we go upstairs and get ready for our guests.'

And so the three gorgeous women, whispering secretly and laughing, leave their beautifully sissified charges to their pretty dance of helpless desire, safe in the knowledge that the first stage of Chrissy and Prissy's transformation from wayward, angry sons into obedient, dainty she-male daughters is complete.

 

Chapter Two

The Party

It is over an hour before Helen and her beautiful daughter, Heather, return. By this time, Chrissy and Prissy are trapped inside a whirlpool of mutual sexual excitement that has washed away any thought of escape. With the wicked plugs humming in their sissy backsides, with their babified forms bound so closely together, both have confronted sexual arousal of an intensity never previously experienced. Now they are quite deliberately forcing their tethered bodies together and moaning girlishly into their fat dummy gags. Their eyes lock together through a shared gaze of sex hunger, and, despite the pain, both sissies push their pantied buttocks into the cruel high heels of the leather ankles boots in a desperate effort to force the vibrating plugs even deeper into their arses.

And even as the vengeful mother and daughter peer down at their sissified victims with deeply amused, contemptuous eyes, Chrissy and Prissy cannot resist the waves of intense sexual pleasure crashing over their bodies and continue to writhe and moan with a fierce, all pervasive arousal.

'My, my,' Helen teases, 'our two sissies seem to have taken to each other with a passion.'

'I always knew they were queer,' Heather spits, her beautiful eyes filled with a cruel triumph.

'That wouldn't surprise me at all,' Helen replies, clearly stimulated by the sissy spectacle. 'It would explain all the aggression – they were resisting their true natures.'

The women continue to behold the erotic dance with amused fascination, silenced by the ease of their sissy sons' transformation and the absolute power they now wield.

'Well,' Helen eventually whispers, a sadistic smile lighting up her lovely face, 'they'll have plenty of time to discover their true natures.'

Heather then takes the oblong control box from a pocket in her skirt and turns off the merciless vibrators. Slowly (very slowly) the sissies writhing and dummy gagged moaning fades. As if awaking from a strange, wicked dream, Chrissy and Prissy become aware of their surroundings once again and the grim reality of their mutual fate returns to shake them from deep arousal. Eyes wide with desire quickly transform into eyes filled with a terrible embarrassment and deep self-loathing. Tears quickly replace sexual need. Moans of intense, masochistic pleasure become gagged whimpers of despair.

'We can turn you on and off like mechanical dolls,' Heather teases as she and Helen untie their sissy charges. 'Like all males, sex is the key to controlling you. Once we have that under control, everything else is easy.'

Once untied, the sissies are helped to their heeled feet and led from the playpen, their numb, weakened legs wobbling and adding to the challenge to effective balance posed by the heels and the wicked hobble chains.

They are quickly lowered back onto the leather backed stools by the dressing table. Here the restraining belts are removed from their waists. Despite the heat generated by their time in the playpen, the sissies make up remains unblemished – a tribute to the permanence and resilience of the make up dyes the women have employed to decorate their hapless she-sons.

They help the she-males back to their feet and lead them over to the wardrobe. By now, both Chrissy and Prissy are fighting back new tears of true horror, for their short time facing the large oval mirror of the dressing table has forced them to confront the true nature of their physical appearance and thus their terrible feminised fate. Suddenly, two wayward, perhaps handsome and masculine teenage boys had been turned, as if by some awful dominatrix magic, into two very pretty, whimpering baby girls, their sweet, pale faces highlighted by expert sissy and permanent make up and the spectacular, soul destroying bonnets.

Yet the humiliation so brilliantly assured by their ultra-feminine baby costumes is far from over; for from the depths of the terrible wardrobe, Helen has now produced two white silk pinafores, delicately edged with beautiful white French lace. These are quickly slipped over the sissies bonneted heads and tied tightly in place behind their backs via lengths of cream coloured silk ribbon belting quickly fixed in the fattest, sissiest bows imaginable. And on the chest of each pinafore is a large pink satin heart, and crossing each heart in elegant white silk lettering is the relevant sissy's name.

'Perfect,' Helen whispers, as Heather, now re-armed with the wicked riding crop, sets about re-tying the very reluctant she-male's arms tightly behind their backs at their elbows and wrists with more pink silk ribbons. 'Simply perfect.'

A crack of the crop across each set of perfectly shaped, delicately hosed sissy thighs inspires the moaning she-males to totter back towards the steep stairway that is the only means of escape from the bizarre, wicked nursery. While one sissy is left to ponder the fate that awaits him above, the other is virtually carried up the stairs by the two beautiful, laughing, teasing women.

Eventually Chrissy and Prissy find themselves being driven by the crop down the central hallway of Helen's home, towards the living room. The sound of female laughter is already filling the house, a sound which brings renewed and utterly useless dummy gagged squeals for mercy from the pretty, dainty sissies, and very soon poor Chrissy and Prissy are teetering fearfully by the living room door, their pretty eyes wide with humiliation and terror, their sexy she-male bottoms wiggling desperately with sweet sissy fear.

It is Helen who opens the door and Heather, with one sharp blow of the crop, who forces the two she-male beauties to sissy mince into the living room.

Their hearts pounding with a terrible, bottomless fear, the sissies quickly find themselves surrounded by a large group of strangely silent women. All seem taller, stronger, all emit waves of fascination mixed with hostility and amused contempt. Then there is laughter. As the two sissies stare angrily down at their pretty high heeled boots, they are suddenly drowned in a sea of cruel, vengeful laughter, and it is not long before huge tears of utter despair are trickling down their sissified faces and moans of desperate, inescapable sadness are fighting past the fat dummy gags.

'What a pretty pair!' one woman announces, increasing the volume of the bitter, remorseless laughter.

'Oh, they sooo lovely! Is this really Christopher and Patrick? You've done such a wonderful job, Helen!'

'What sweet little sissies! How did they ever pass for boys!'

'What delightful dresses. I bet they just adore their pretty panties and hose. And the bonnets – they're utterly divine!'

Then the circle breaks. The women part and allow Helen and Debra to enter and stand before their sissified sons, broad, triumphant smiles lighting up their beautiful faces.

'Thank you, ladies,' Helen says, 'you're all very kind. But if you'd like to be seated, we can introduce Chrissy and Prissy more formally.'

As tears of deep humiliation trickle down cheeks dyed snow white, Helen describes in appalling detail every facet of their sissification, including their clothes, the grim torment of the restrainer, the terrible presence of the vibrators, their permanent bondage, how they have been shaved, the types of special make up used, the design and layout of the nursery (including the awful shared cot). As she speaks, the women clap and laugh, and they also tease the lovely sissies with exaggerated baby talk.

Helen also makes it very clear that the two she-males will act as servants, that a key part of their long term punishment will be to work as house maids for their mothers and for the other women of the neighbourhood. At this, the women become extremely excited and begin bidding against each other to be the first to have the sissies working in their homes. Helen laughs and quietens them, making clear that the allocation of the sissies will be on an alphabetical basis. The sissies tears flow even faster as this new humiliation is detailed. They are to become neighbourhood sissy slaves!

Helen and Debra then set about untying the sissies tightly trussed arms, and it is only now that poor Chrissy finds the courage to look up and face his tormentors. Before him are eight women, all but one painfully familiar, most his mother's neighbours, most, in one way or another, previous victims of his and Patrick's reign of terror. He finds himself avoiding the cruel, contemptuous, deeply amused eyes of Mrs Bellman, a lovely, plump widow in her early fifties whose window Prissy, when Patrick, had smashed; the steel gaze of Mrs Eve, the gorgeous Afro-Caribbean wife of Harry Eve, the self employed construction worker whose van both the boys had vandalised; the laughter ignited eyes of Mrs Pearl and her stunning teenage daughter, Beverley, who is Heather's best friend at the exclusive girls' school both attend; the hard glare of Miss Dale and her lovely French "friend" ,Babette, the two college lecturers who share a home in the close, and who have been the subject of much sexist and homophobic abuse from the two boys; and Ms Blaine, the beautiful divorcee and consultant breast surgeon who lives alone in the huge house at the end of the close.

Then there is the new woman, standing next to Ms Blaine. A very tall, also very beautiful blonde, with hard, crystal blue eyes, who is regarding the two squirming, sobbing sissies with a frighteningly cold stare, as if she is examining laboratory specimens.

And it is only as Heather's wicked crop cuts into his poor, hosed thighs once again that Chrissy realises he is being spoken to by his mother.

'Chrissy! You silly girl! Wake up! Now do as I say and show the ladies your lovely sissy panties!"

The level of laughter has increased considerably, and when Chrissy looks over at Prissy, he realises why. For the other, very unfortunate sissy has been forced to lift up his sweet satin skirt and inches of frou-frou petticoating to display, for the ladies wicked amusement, his lovely, be-frilled panties. And now, under threat of a further kiss of the crop, Chrissy must do the same. Sobbing through his fat dummy gag, the devastated, ultra-humiliated she-male struggles with his tightly mittened hands to get a grip on each side of his skirt and petticoats and, with a final loud squeal of despair, pulls them up to reveal the beautiful white silk panties ringed with at least a dozen pretty rows of delicate French lace. And as he exposes the panties, the laughter increases, the women clap and cheer, each sound a terrible mocking, a brutal, intense revenge.

Then the gorgeous Beverly approaches Chrissy. She is a tall, lithe redhead with inescapably beautiful emerald eyes. Her long, thick hair is bound in a simple, yet still very sexy ponytail. She is wearing a very tight red sweater, a white and red checked mini skirt and white tights. Her feet are resting in low heeled, red patent leather court shoes. She is simply amazing, and Chrissy, despite his bullying behaviour, despite the cruelty and the harsh words, has always been very secretly and very deeply attracted to her.

'You look so sweet, Chrissy,' Beverly teases. 'And so utterly pathetic.'

The women laugh louder, Chrissy fights to avoid her angry, triumphant gaze.

'Your mummy's definitely made the right choice in babifying you. Heather and I are going to have such fun!'

Chrissy stares helplessly at his mother. She smiles softly and nods.

'Yes, Chrissy, I think it's only fair that Beverley help Heather with your training and supervision, given all the pain you've caused.'

A new flood of tears pours from Chrissy's eyes as he realises the terrible implications of his mother's words and the women laugh even louder.

'There is one thing, though,' Beverly continues, taking poor Chrissy's beribboned chin in her hands and forcing the sobbing sissy to meet her powerful, dazzling gaze. 'You should have your name on your panties, as well as the pini. Can that be arranged?'

Helen laughs and nods. 'Of course. We'll get some more heart transfers and they can iron them on tomorrow.'

The women unleash another torrent of cruel laughter and Heather then steps forward. She has placed the crop on a coffee table by the sofa and now holds a sinister looking leather paddle in her hands.

'Can Beverly go first, mummy?' she asks Helen.

'Yes. Ten whacks for Chrissy, I think.'

The two teenage girls then set upon the sobbing, helpless, crushed sissies. Chrissy and Prissy's wrists are forced back behind their backs and lashed together. The two beautiful friends then turn the sissies to face the wall and force them to bend forward, causing their short skirts and petticoats to rise up their hosed thighs and expose their pretty, pert, pantied bottoms to the full view of the jeering, hooting women.

'You will each get to spank a sissy,' Helen announces to the group of women, inspiring loud squeals of fear and outrage from Chrissy and Prissy. 'You are allowed ten hard whacks with the paddle. I suggest, given the history of their crimes, Beverly, Miss Dale, Babette and Ms Blaine concentrate on Chrissy and the rest on Prissy.'

And so, for the next thirty or so minutes, the poor sissies are subject to a terrible, cruelly collective spanking. Accompanied by much laughter and wicked teasing, Chrissy and Prissy receive 40 hard, merciless blows each, delivered with enthusiasm and righteous anger by their beautiful female captors. The sound of leather slapping hard against silk wrapped bottoms fills the living room, as does pathetic sissy sobbing into fat dummy gags and even louder, celebratory female laughter.

Eventually, the two sissies are untied and returned to face their tormentors, their vision blurred by tears, their bottoms burning terribly, their minds overwhelmed by the most appalling humiliation imaginable. They are truly and utterly defeated. And as the burning in their shapely sissy bottoms turns into a strangely familiar, teasing warmth, they are led across the living room to two very large, adult sized-high chairs. They are hauled up into the chairs and leather shackles are used to strap their wrists and ankles to the sides. Plastic tabletops are then slipped into place so that they rest tightly upon each sissy lap, pinning the unfortunate she-males helplessly in place.

By now, the warmth in their bottoms has spread between their nylon sheathed legs and is working its way inescapably into their rubber imprisoned and very stiff cocks. Despite everything, the two reluctant she-males are, much to their mutual horror, sexually excited!

Heather then steps forward and places a large plastic bowl filled with a strange pink mush on the table before a wide eyed, frightened Prissy. As Beverley places a similar bowl before Chrissy, the other women, all clearly excited by the collective spanking, form a semi-circle around the two sissies to observe the next stage of their humiliation.

'Now we will feed them,' Helen says, emerging from the semi-circle armed with two pint sized baby bottles filled with a dark pink liquid. 'All their meals will be liquidised and treated with pink food colouring. As far as our sissies are concerned each meal will look exactly the same. Believe or not that mush is mashed potatoes, various vegetables and gravy. For desert, they have four pints of sugared, full cream milk and a bowl of stewed prunes soaked in vinegar and double cream.'

The women laugh and clap as Helen and Debra place the bottles on the plastic tables in front of a now desperately sobbing Chrissy and Prissy. Heather then slips an appropriately monogrammed and very large, lace frilled pink rubber bib over each sissy's head.

'I suggest Heather and Bev feed them the mush and we then take turns with the bottles.'

The women express very enthusiastic support for Debra's proposal and the two girls set about removing the dummy gags from their whimpering sissy captives.

No sooner have the gags been removed than Chrissy begins to plead with his mother for release, while Prissy just cries even louder, shaking his pretty head in horrified disbelief and staring with huge, tear logged eyes at his grinning mother.

Chrissy's protests are cut short by a sudden, violent whack of the vicious crop across his prettily hosed thighs. He cries out in painful surprise and Beverley orders him to be quiet. He stares at her with angry, horrified eyes, but remains silent, even as Beverley proceeds to use a plastic desert spoon to scoop up a large serving of the pink mush.

'Open up, Chrissy,' she teases, her eyes making it quite clear that further disobedience will result in an even sharper application of the crop.

And so the two sissies submit to this dreadful, demeaning feeding, the air now filled with the cheers and jibes of the other women. Ten large scoops of mush are forced between reluctant sissy lips and swallowed under threat of further merciless beatings. The poor sissies eyes tell all there is to know: the food tastes quite horrible, and there is much worse to come.

As soon as the mush has been forced in its entirety down the sissies throats, Heather and Beverly place before their wide eyed captives two more plastic bowls filled with the grim desert: stewed prunes floating in a sauce of vinegar and double cream, to be force fed with relish by the two smiling, teasing teenage girls goaded on by the rest of the beautiful, vengeful women.

And as the sissies gag on the terribly sweet and bitter, treacle-like mixture, they watch out of the corner of appalled eyes as the first four gorgeous, mocking women create two queues to force feed them the bottles of milk.

Chrissy manages only a gasp of outrage between the spoon holding the last serving of prunes being pulled from his tormented mouth and the fat rubber teat of the first bottle being forced between his painted lips by the lovely Ms Dale.

'There, there, babikins,' Ms Dale whispers, her voice filled with an exaggerated erotic teasing, her beautiful green eyes burning with amused triumph, 'just relax and suck deeply.'

Chrissy pulls against the shackles holding him in place and squeals a useless defiance. Ms Dale pushes the teat deeper and forces the reluctant she-male to suck the thick, sweet, sickly milk down his throat.

And as he sucks, there is the inescapable fact of Ms Dale, of her gorgeous, thick red hair and piercing emerald eyes, of her tremendous, athletic figure sheathed in a tight silk suit, and her desire to revenge herself on the arrogant, beastial youth who had, on so many occasions, made her life a misery, a youth now sealed so very tighty in sweet baby clothes, pantied, hosed and mittened, his wayward cock imprisoned in tight, unforgiving rubber, a bitterly humiliating and horrifying dildo positioned deep inside his tender arse. Yes, this is a glorious and total revenge.

And as Chrissy suffers at the hands of the gorgeous Ms Dale, the plump, stunning Mrs Eve works her teasing magic on poor little Prissy. In the hands of this gorgeous woman, Prissy is far less resistant than Chrissy, his eyes glued to Mrs Eve's large, white nylon sweater sealed breasts as he sucks with an almost erotic contentment on the fat rubber teat.

'Suddenly Prissy seems far less upset about his fate,' Helen whispers to Debra, the two mothers watching this spectacle with a helpless fascination.

'No, I'm sure he's mortified,' Debra replies. 'But I've seen him looking at Mrs Eve before. He's always had a secret thing about her. He keeps a collection of pictures of black models and actresses under his bed. He has a very obvious weakness for the duskier female.'

'I suggest we involve her more in his babification,' Helen whispers. 'Use his desire.'

Debra contemplates these words and smiles. 'Yes, of course. I'm sure she'd love to be more directly involved. And if we weaken Prissy, then it will be much harder for Chrissy to fight us. And to be honest, I think Mrs Eve will find it more entertaining, more erotic.'

Helen smiles and runs the back of her hand across Debra's soft, pale rose cheek. Her friend quivers with pleasure and leans into the caress. Helen knows that, for Debra, the transformation of Prissy is all about revenge and discipline. Unlike Helen, she finds no real sexual edge to this enforced feminisation, an edge whose roots are in the strange pleasures of sadomasochism. Yet for Helen, controlling her son and turning him into a simpering, obedient sissy is about much more than revenge. She is excited by the power she is about to possess, aroused by the thought of subduing and transforming her wayward, arrogant, foolish only child into a pretty, mincing, hosed and pantied pansy. Then, of course, there is the final weapon that will guarantee obedience and the success of her plans: her son's teenage crush, his secret but inescapable desire for his own beautiful, sexy mother. A fact exposed by so many furtive gazes at her black stockinged legs and by the not infrequent disruption of her underwear draw.

As Ms Dale and Mrs Eve empty the last of the first bottles into the sissies tormented mouths, Ms Blaine and her mysterious friend step forward. 'They are both very impressive specimens,' the striking blonde whispers in a deep German accent, taking up Chrissy's next full bottle of milk and quickly forcing the teat between his very reluctant lips.

A look of genuine fear and horror spreads across the poor sissy's face as the sinister blonde continues to talk. 'Breast enlargement will be simple. We start with hormones from today, then a silicon procedure in about three months, when we will do the rest of the surgical interventions.'

Ms Blaine smiles and nods. 'Nina is the best cosmetic surgeon in the country. Trust me, Helen, no one will ever be able to recognise them as boys by the time she's finished.'

'I can't wait,' Debra says, moving towards Ms Blaine and fixing her hard, angry eyes on poor Prissy. 'Just think,dearest, you'll soon have a pair of big, bouncy titties. Then you'll really know about the burdens of femininity.'

Prissy's eyes widen in even greater fear and he squeals into the fat rubber teat now filling his pretty sissy mouth. Chrissy also begins to struggle once more. Beverley steps forward, waves the crop, and both she-males fall silent. More tears begin to trickle from their big, baby eyes.

'And they'll be ultra-sensitive too,' Ms Blaine adds, forcing Prissy to suck harder on the teat.

'Yes,' the blonde called Nina adds. 'Just a simple matter of design, of developing the sensory capabilities of the existing skin.'

'But we want them to be exposed first,' Helen insists. 'Three months of flat chested, short haired humiliation, so that every one knows the truth of their sissification.'

'After that, they'll be begging us to make them into girls,' Debra adds, causing more cruel, teasing laughter.

As Ms Blaine and Nina are replaced by Babette and Mrs Bellman, Debra takes Mrs Eve aside and explains her proposed role in the development of Chrissy and Prissy. Meanwhile, the two helpless, angry, horrified sissies are fed their third bottle of ultra sweet, pink coloured milk by two more beautiful, mocking, powerful women. As they reluctantly suck down the thick pink goo, they contemplate with true terror their sissified futures at the hands of this band of determined, merciless sisters. They no longer struggle or squeal: they have been stilled by an all powerful sense of inescapable sissy doom.

By the time the fourth and final bottle has been emptied into their tormented sissy mouths, both Chrissy and Prissy are feeling very sick. Bloated and queasy, they are now easy to control and are unshackled and pulled from the humiliating high chairs without even a whimper of protest.

Heather and Beverley replace the dummy gags and bind the sissies hands behind their backs (slapping their pretty, hosed thighs for amusement as they do so). Helen then addresses her guests.

'It's nearly five, and I think our two babies need an early night. Heather and Beverley will stay and work out the timetable of visits to your homes. Debra, Mrs Eve and I need to tuck the sissies in. Thank you so much for coming, and I'm sure you'll be seeing much, much more of Chrissy and Prissy."

The women clap their gratitude and wish their new sissy slaves a sweet goodnight. Helen and Debra then lead poor Chrissy and Prissy from the room, followed by a fascinated and very beautiful Mrs Eve. The hobbles and bindings ensure that the journey from the living is a slow and uncomfortable one, and the two she-males are soon moaning fearfully and uncomfortably into their fat dummy gags.

Rather than being returned to the basement nursery, the sissies find themselves being led upstairs. And after much slapping of pantied buttocks, squeals of painful fear and laughter (especially from a deeply amused Mrs Eve), Chrissy and Prissy are led to Helen's bedroom door.

'You can use Chrissy's old room,' Helen tells Debra, and she and Mrs Eve lead a now wide eyed, plainly terrified Prissy off to a strange new fate.

Chrissy watches Prissy disappear into his old room before being led into his mother's room, new tears of fear welling up in his pretty baby girl eyes.

Helen shuts the door and leads Chrissy into the centre of the large, elegantly decorated room.

'There's no need to be afraid, Chrissy. I'm not going to punish you. I just want to get you ready for bed, and also to talk privately.'

Chrissy's sobs subside and he finds himself looking up at his beautiful, regal mother with water logged, puzzled eyes.

'I must admit all this excitement has made me rather hot,' she purrs, smiling warmly at her sissified son. 'So, I'll just slip out of these clothes before we start.'

Then, to Chrissy's utter astonishment, his gorgeous mother pulls the tight black nylon sweater up over her chest and above her head to reveal a pair of large, surprisingly firm and shapely breasts erotically imprisoned in a tight, lace edged, black silk brassiere, plus a waistline tightly contained within a black leather, satin and rubber panelled corset! She throws the sweater onto the big double bed that dominates the room, slips the beautiful diamond clasp from her hair and shakes the thick, glossy mane free. A sigh of aroused amazement slips from Chrissy's gag as his mother then turns to face him and begins to wiggle out of the short, sexy skirt.

'There,' she sighs, the skirt dropping to her ankles, revealing two long, perfectly shaped legs wrapped in self-supporting black nylon stockings, 'that's much better.'

Standing at least three inches taller than her teenage sissy son in her black patent leather, high heeled court shoes, she then slips an elegant, blood red nailed hand under Chrissy's chin and lifts his head so that he is staring directly into her gorgeous brown eyes.

'I know your secrets, Chrissy. Your most secret thoughts and desires. You can't hide them from me. I've seen your sinful gaze, I've noticed my disturbed underwear draw and the odd pair of missing panties. And we've all seen your little performance with Prissy. I know that deep down you're loving your sissification. And I know you have very naughty thoughts about me.'

He tries to shake his head, to resist the implications of her words, but his eyes quickly fall upon her splendid, heaving chest and a mind numbing desire washes over him.

'Obviously, the humiliation, the baby clothes, that is hurting, and it will continue to hurt for quite a while. But the physical transformations we plan and, if you are obedient and submissive, your final transformation into a full blown she-male, are not just about punishment. They are about helping you to stop fighting your true nature.'

Then she slowly, even teasingly unties him, removes the hobble chain and begins, again teasingly, to remove his lovely sissy clothes, her eyes tormenting his with a look of pure sin. With a sexy, promising smile lighting up her gorgeous face, she removes the dummy gag and the bonnet, then the pinafore and the dress, eventually striping him down to just the corset, his rubber panties and stockings. Then, her smile widening, she eases the panties over his long, hard, rubber imprisoned sex and down his silky smooth legs. His expertly restrained sex pops up before her like a totem pole created in the name of a gorgeous goddess and he utters a helpless cry of pleasure and frustration.

She releases a surprised, surprisingly girlish laugh. 'Your father was a well endowed man, and in that respect at least, you take after him.'

Poor Chrissy blushes furiously and tries to avoid his mother's overwhelming gaze.

'Please, mum,' he mumbles, confused, tormented, helpless.

Then she truly amazes him by slipping a long, elegant hand over his large, frustrated sex and beginning to caress it.

'Be quiet, petal,' she whispers, her own eyes now glazed by desire, her voice filled with a strange, maternal reassurance cut through with hoarse need. 'I know what you want. And I don't mind. But running away from your true self is costing us all far too much. You're at war with yourself, Chrissy. And that has to stop.'

He moans and arches his back helplessly as she teases the engorged, rubber lined shaft of his sex into an even harder, firmer state, causing the metal ring clamping his testicles to squeeze harder.

'Dr Ruscoe is a world authority on cosmetic and gender reassignment surgery, and she assures me we can transform you without loosing one millimetre of this lovely toy. Debra is actually very keen to make Prissy undergo a full sex change; but you, my sweet…well, I want you to remain very distinctly male as far as this is concerned.'

A cry of agonised pleasure escapes poor Chrissy's helplessly pouting lips and his mother releases her dreadful, wonderful grip.

'Now, let's get you ready for bed.'

She turns him around to face the bed. It is only now that he notices the new collection of ultra sissy clothing neatly laid neatly out on the white silk sheets.

'I want you to bend over first, Chrissy,' his mother whispers, her deep, sensual voice filled with promise and arousal. 'Hands on the bed, legs wide apart.'

The helpless, horny sissy obeys, and as he leans forward, his rubberised sex presses angrily into his stomach. A sickening need floods across his feminised body, his heart pounds angrily. Desire consumes him and he moans helplessly into a void of teenage lust.

Then he feels her hands between his legs. A finger teases his rubber sealed testicles and he cries out. Then a hand slips between his buttocks, fingers probe around the head of the teasing, ingenious vibrator. Then, slowly, carefully, it is eased free. A cry of pleasure escapes his mouth. His mother then tells him to stand up.

'We'll start with the nappy first,' she says.

He looks down at the sissy clothes and feels his racing heart slow with disappointment. As his mother disposes of the vibrator, he realises the night ahead is to be one of even greater humiliation. Before him on the bed is a large, terry cloth nappy, a pair of adult-sized, pink plastic panties, a pair of white silk stockings, two pink lace frilled garters, what appears to be a pair of fingerless, pink rubber mittens and, the crowning item of soul-crushing baby wear: a romper suit made from a very fine pink silk, which is edged at it's very high neck with inches of teasing white French lace.

Helen takes the nappy from the bed and carefully folds it into a large triangle before pulling it between her sissy's son's legs and bringing the ends together at his waist. Holding these ends with one hand, she deftly takes a very large silver safety pin from the bedside table and pins the huge, embarrassing nappy tightly in place. And it is as she does this that he feels his stomach rumble and a strange gaseous noise bubble up from deep within his bowels.

'The mush was spiked with a powerful laxative,' his mother says, obviously amused. 'It will take full effect in about 60 minutes, so we better hurry up.'

He looks at her in utter horror and is about to protest when she presses a finger to his soft lips.

'Shhhh. No talking, Chrissy, unless you want a strip of skin spanked off your backside.'

His cheeks redden with anger and humiliation. He falls silent and watches as his mother takes up the plastic panties, a teasingly cruel smile igniting up her beautiful face.

He is made to step into the panties and they are slowly pulled up over his silky smooth legs and positioned around the bulging nappy. Then he is made to sit down on the bed and watch transfixed as his mother takes up one of the translucent silk stockings.

'Aren't they beautiful?' she whispers, her gaze burning into his wide, tormented eyes.

She kneels before him and he peers down at the delightful sight of her incredible, tightly imprisoned breasts heaving with concentration as she bunches the stocking up into a ball and slips it over his right foot. Then, very slowly, she begins to draw the beautiful stocking over his dainty foot and up his long leg. The sensation of the fine, soft silk brushing against his smooth, sensitised skin is immediately arousing. He gasps as one thousand rose petal kisses work their way up his leg and his mother laughs.

'Yes, it's a lovely feeling, Chrissy. The kiss of silk against soft sissy skin. Now stand up.'

He obeys her without a second's hesitation, transfixed by the feel of the stocking and the almost magical transformative effect it has on the shape of his leg. His tightly imprisoned erection strains desperately against the rubber restrainer and a bead of sex sweat drips from a painted lip onto his tongue. His mother draws the stocking up around his thigh and takes one of the pretty lace garters from the bed. Under her instruction, he steps into the garter and she pulls it up around the slightly darker coloured stocking top area, using pink silk ribbons that run through the lace weaving to tie it tightly in place.

In a few minutes, she has repeated this elaborate, highly erotic process with the second stocking and he is soon standing before her, his eyes studying her splendid body with an intense and desperate excitement.

'I had the romper suit designed especially from the finest Italian silk. I'm sure you'll just love it, Chrissy.'

His mother's words wash over him like a cloud of pure sex. Now, despite his impending babification, he is lost in the powerful grip of his own desire, and all he can do is moan submissively as Helen takes the elaborate, beautiful suit from the bed and holds it teasingly before him.

It is a striking hot pink and has silk booties and fingerless mittens shown seamlessly into its beautiful, shimmering fabric, making it resemble a strange, infantile body stocking. His mother displays the suit before him, revealing a row of cream coloured pearl buttons that run down the back, all the way from the white lace be-frilled and very high neck, to the edge of the lower waist area. Once imprisoned in the suit, there will be no escape without some form of assistance.

His mother pulls open the back section and orders Chrissy to sit back on the bed. She then draws the legs up over his silk encased feet and ankles. She pulls the suit up to his thighs and then tells him to stand. He obeys and watches with amazed humiliation as she glides his arms into the silk sleeves and then pulls them and the rest of the suit towards and up over his slender, girlish shoulders. The layers of white lace around the neck immediately begin to tickle his chin and Helen stifles a mocking laugh while she carefully buttons up the suit, imprisoning her pretty sissy son in a cocoon of pure pink silk.

Once he has been secured in the suit, his mother steps back to admire her handiwork, a broad, teasing smile once again lighting up her gorgeous face. He tries to avoid drinking in her own splendid form and feels his sex fight even harder against its cruel rubber restrainer.

'You look so cute, Chrissy. Utterly adorable," she says, walking around him and then sitting down on the bed.

'Come here and lay down on the bed.'

He looks at her in astonishment as her hands pat the tops of her black nylon stockings. Swallowing hard, he moves towards the bed, and almost immediately he is surrounded by the sweet, mocking rustle of expensive Italian silk. Not only that, but as he moves, the silk caresses those parts of his shaven, ultra sensitive body that remain naked beneath. He moans helplessly and minces up to the edge of the bed. His mother then helps him onto the bed, and very soon he finds himself lying on his back with his head resting in her wide, sensual lap.

'As I've already told you, Chrissy, if you obey me, and if you accept your sissification with an open heart, there will be rewards. And as you've performed very well so far, here's a little taster of the sort of reward you can expect.'

He looks up her marvellous chest in total awe. Then he gasps in shock, in delight, in total astonishment as his mother proceeds to unclip the lovely black brassiere and pull it free of her bosom. Suddenly, Chrissy is only inches from her splendidly formed, ample and very bare breasts.

'You may suckle me for a few minutes,' she says, slipping a hand under his head and gently guiding his mouth towards a long, very stiff left nipple.

His sissy lips slip instinctively over the nipple. He moans into this beautiful, soft, pale rose breast and begins to suck. A terrible sexual smothering begins. Wrapped in silk and rubber, a babified teenage boy held firmly at his mother's breast, a future of intense feminisation and humiliation before him, he is overwhelmed by a very powerful sense of contentment, of inner peace. Suddenly all thoughts of his impending sentence disappear. And as he sucks harder, as his erection battles its rubber restrainer, his mother's back arches and he feels her gorgeous body tense violently. A moan of pleasure escapes her lips and a strange, elemental shudder vibrates through her stunning body. Then she gently detaches him from her left breast with a strange, girlish sigh and transfers his eager, painted lips to its equally beautiful and ample sister. Very soon he is sucking hungrily once again and she, once again, is responding.

By the time she detaches him from her right breast and orders him to stand before her, she is flushed with orgasmic pleasure. She rises shakily from the bed and smiles at him in a sex stupor. He stares in continuing amazement at her splendid breasts, a look of utter devotion and deep desire igniting his sissified features.

'Very good, Chrissy,' she whispers. 'Now lets get you wrapped up for bedibies.'

With this, she grabs the edges of her black, lace-frilled panties and then pulls them down over her long, nylon sheathed legs. Chrissy cries out in a final, crushed amazement as she reveals her soaking, dark sex to his wide, baby girl eyes.

She moves closer to him, waving her wet panties like a flag of war.

'Open your mouth…wide.'

He obeys instantly, his eyes never leaving the panties as she folds them into an inside out ball that leaves the soaked gusset section fully exposed, and then rams them deep into his mouth. The sharp, even acrid, but deeply arousing taste of her sex suddenly fills his mouth. He gasps helplessly into this sudden, teasing, wicked gag. She then turns to the bedside table and takes from it a very thick role of silver masking tape and a large pair of scissors. His eyes widen still further as she pulls a long strip of the wide, thick tape free and then snips it off with the scissors.

'Close your mouth over the panties – lips together.'

He obeys and she spreads the tape over his lips and cheeks, sealing the panties firmly inside his mouth, and thus very efficiently and erotically gagging him.

'Do you like it?' she asks, desire coating her husky voice, her eyes filled with cruel excitement. 'Do you like being gagged with my panties?'

He nods helplessly and she laughs. 'Good. Because I want you to wear a panty gag every night, to help you sleep and to remind you of the rewards of obedience.'

She very slowly presses the tape against his sealed lips and cheeks with her long, beautiful fingers, her eyes two roaring, sex fuelled pyres of desire. He moans loudly and angrily, his sex begging for release.

'Yes, I know,' she whispers. 'You want me. I've always known, you silly sissy. But some things are just not possible. If you behave, we can spend time together, like tonight. And if you're really good, maybe you can use that tongue a little lower down. But that's it, sweetness. However, if I think you deserve it, once a week I'll slip that little restrainer off and milk you. And then there's Prissy – you'll always have Prissy. And I'm sure he'll want to get to know you much better.'

The mention of some bizarre sexual encounter with Prissy fills him with dread and he sakes his head vigorously.

'Don't be silly, Chrissy. We all saw you writhing around together. By the time we've finished with you, you will be helpless sissy lovers. You'll be unable to keep your hands off each other, unless we tie you up – which we will…frequently. Talking of which, it's time for you to be secured and put to bed.'

He watches in dumb amazement as she then sits down on the bed and carefully slips out of her very sheer, sexy nylon stockings. Then, completely naked, she stands, the stockings wrapped around her wrists, and tells him to put his hands behind his back. Moaning into the pungent, teasing gag, he obeys, and she very quickly binds his wrists and elbows together with the stockings, pulling extra tight on the stocking binding his elbows and ensuring that the tips touch and that his chest is forced to jut forward. He squeals with pain and she laughs cruelly. Then she takes the hobble shackles and chain from the bed and refits them to his silk wrapped ankles.

'There,' she whispers, standing triumphantly before him, her splendid, nude form a terrible, beautiful torture for his pretty sissy eyes.

Then, from deep within his gut comes a much louder and deeply ominous rumble. His buttocks clench together desperately and his painted face reddens.

'Not much time left by the sounds of it, Chrissy. We better get you downstairs.'

She quickly grabs a beautiful black silk dressing gown from the wardrobe, wraps it around her stunning form and leads him from the room. He totters desperately along besides her, panting into his fat, tormenting gag, suddenly very painfully aware that his bowels are demanding evacuation as quickly as possible.

Once out on the landing, he discovers Prissy flanked by Heather and Beverley. From the haunted, hungry and also uncomfortable look in his big eyes, it is clear he too has been subject to some strange form of sexual torture and is also rather desperately in need of the toilet. Like Chrissy, Prissy has also been fitted into a very pretty silk romper suit, yet his is coloured a babyish powder blue. His lips are also tightly sealed with silver masking tape, and, judging by his bulging cheeks, he too has been expertly panty gagged. He is also trussed tightly with stockings. And it is only as Chrissy passes his old room and sees Mrs Eve adjusting her skirt and blouse (while Debra looks on admiringly), that he realises who the panties filling Prissy's mouth belong to.

The two babified she-males are then placed into the custody of Heather and Beverley and led moaning and mincing along the landing. As he begins to hobble desperately down the stairs, poor Chrissy turns to see his mother disappear into his old room. The hoarse, sexual laughter that follows fills him with deep humiliation and a helpless desire.

Inspired by numerous hard slaps from Heather and Beverley, the sissies are led down the stairs, along the ground floor corridor and, eventually, down the steep, shadowy stairway into the nursery. Here, their bowels now bubbling loudly, Heather and Beverley quickly untie their arms and release the hobbles.

'You both look so cute,' Heather teases, her beautiful eyes filled with wicked amusement and sadistic pleasure.

She takes the stockings used to bind Chrissy to the dressing table and drowns each one in a powerful rose perfume. 'I really can't wait to start training you; tomorrow is going to be such fun! You'll hate it of course. But resistance is utterly futile. There really is no escape. You've been sentenced to life in panties and hose. So get used to it. And, believe it or not, I think you will…both of you. And one day, not too far away, you'll beg me to put you into the prettiest, sissiest clothes imaginable. And, if Ms Blaine has her way, you'll have the bodies to go with the clothes!'

The girls laugh cruelly and the two increasingly uncomfortable sissies squeal desperately into their gags, wiggle their nappied behinds and bounce angrily on their silk wrapped heels.

'Yes, it must feel a bit dodgy down there about now. So let's get you masked and into the sleep sack.'

The sissies can only watch in helpless horror as Beverley takes from the wardrobe what appears to be a large pink rubber sack. She brings it over to the dainty, struggling captives with a sinister smile.

'As you both loved being tied together earlier, we thought you'd like to be wrapped up nice and tightly while you sleep.'

Beverley's cruel words fill the wriggling sissies with a new horror and they squeal their renewed anger. Laughing, Heather joins Beverley and holds the stockings before the two sobbing she-males.

'Of course, as you're about to poo your nappies and wet yourselves, things will probably get very uncomfortable, especially with the smell. So, we thought mummy's stockings, appropriately scented, might help reduce the pong.'

The sissies watch with true terror as Heather then proceeds to stretch the top of one of the stockings into a wide bowl and approach Prissy. Prissy minces backward, shaking his head and squealing furiously into his gag. Beverley grabs and holds him firmly in position while Heather stretches the scented stocking over his head, then pulls it down over his face and around his neck. His flattened, distorted features produce peels of wicked laughter from the two girls and as he continues to shake his head and squeal frantically in Beverley's tight grip, Heather turns to her helpless, sobbing she-brother.

'Now it's your turn, Chrissy.'

Perhaps surprisingly, Chrissy doesn't resist this latest awful humiliation. However, his increasingly unstable bowels make any sudden movement distinctly risky, and he hardly stirs as Heather slips the stocking over his head and pulls it down around his face, plunging him into a world seen through a dark filter of sweetly scented nylon.

'There's a good girl,' Heather whispers, her blurred, shadowy figure standing over him like a harbinger of absolute doom.

The two sissies are then led over to the pink rubber sack and made to stand facing each other in the exact centre of this strange device. Prissy's resistance is quickly subdued by a sharp application of the crop from Beverley. Heather pushes the two unfortunates very closely together, so that their stockinged faces are only inches apart.

Pressed together, the poor sissies are immediately reminded of the terrible and deeply ambivalent experience in the playpen. Their silk wrapped bodies so close, their nylon sheathed faces beholding brutal distortions of each other, they cannot help but squirm with fear and a stranger, deeper, much more disturbing sensation.

Beverley then takes up the bottom rim of the weird sack and begins slowly to draw it over their imprisoned forms.

'You'll be snug as two bugs in a somewhat smelly rug,' Heather teases.

It quickly becomes apparent that the rubber sack is very tight, and as it is eased up their bodies, the two moaning, frightened sissies are pushed even closer. And by the time the sack has been pulled up to their necks, they are sealed extremely tautly together, and their stocking sheathed noses are actually touching.

Now unable to move an inch, they can only rely on their combined sense of feeling to realise that Heather is wrapping a leather belt around their combined waists. She then proceeds to buckle it very tightly in place, significantly increasing the pressure on their squashed forms. They squeal angrily into their fat, tight, utterly inescapable, very pungent and teasingly soft panty gags. She then adds two more belts, one at the ankle area and one at the upper chest area, insuring that the sissies are crushed into a single, immobile, rubberised, silk encased block of she-male flesh.

Then, as the sissies moan with discomfort and fear, Beverley and Heather carefully tip their sissies captives onto the cot's rubber mattress and roll them into the centre, leaving them on their sides, face to face.

Laughing cruelly, the girls then lift up the barred sides of the cot and lock them in place.

'It's just after 6.00pm,' Heather says, the cruel satisfaction in her voice brutal and, to the sissies, overwhelming. 'We'll be back at 7.00am to wake you. The laxatives should take their inevitable effect in a very few minutes. Also, there is a filter on the head of the re-strainer to allow you to piss yourselves - so things will be rather uncomfortable for the next thirteen hours. But do try to get some beauty sleep, my pretties.'

As poor Chrissy and Prissy lie stone still, unable to move even a millimetre, their stockinged faces pressed tightly together, the taste of their mistresses filling their exceptionally well gagged mouths, Heather and Beverley, still laughing wickedly, leave the nursery. At the top of the stairs, Heather, a broad smile lighting up her lovely face, switches off the light and plunges the sissies into an absolute darkness.

The girls then slip through the door to the main corridor.

The sound of the door being locked echoes through the nursery and rings in the nylon sheathed ears of the two totally immobilised sissies. Then there is just the laboured breathing of the tightly bound, gagged and rubber cocooned she-male captives and, more ominously, the increasingly disturbed sounds of their weakening bowels.

Even as he voids his bowels and squeals of horror flood from Prissy's gag, Chrissy is violently, if uncomfortably erect, his mind filled with tormenting images of his beautiful, all powerful mother. He tastes her and moans with a fierce pleasure, almost unaware that his nappy has been filled with the almost liquid excreta produced by the powerful laxative. Then he feels Prissy helplessly relax and realises that he too has involuntarily emptied his bowels into his own tight, soul destroying nappy. And within seconds of this, poor Chrissy has also added a fast, powerful stream of urine to the mixture.

Now they are truly defeated. Bound and gagged, unable to move or talk, unable even to control their bodily functions. Yet both are still deeply aroused, despite everything; both are filled with teasing, sexy images of their mistresses; and both are terrified and excited by the thought of what lies ahead in their distinctly sissy futures.

  

  

  

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© 2004 by Christina Shelly. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.