Sons into Daughters

by Christina Shelly

 

Chapter Three

A New Day

The night is the longest and darkest of their lives. Sealed together intimately, the two she-males endure a constantly teasing and humiliating arousal and a terrible, all pervasive self-loathing. Over thirteen dreadful, tortuous hours their will to resist this awful transformation, this cruel and unforgiving sissification at the hands of their beautiful, vengeful mothers, is virtually crushed. By the time Beverley and Heather return to the nursery, the two reluctant sissies will do anything to free themselves from the appalling physical discomfort and awful mental torture that have been their continual companions throughout the night.

Although neither has slept a wink, both are wide awake when Heather flicks on the light switch and floods the long, deep room with bright white electric light. Almost immediately the two sissies begin squealing through the sex soaked gags that fill their mouths, a pathetic begging for release from this horrible punishment.

Laughter is the only response, the cruel, triumphant laughter of two gorgeous, vengeful females.

'My, my, aren't we agitated!'

The voice of Heather, Chrissy's lovely, much abused sister.

Chrissy squeals louder and the two girls respond with more cutting, mocking laughter.

'Poo!' Beverley cries. 'What a dreadful stink, even with the masks.'

It is impossible for Chrissy and Prissy to see their sisters, given that they are bound face to face and their heads are sealed in black nylon stockings. If they could see, they would behold the two teenage beauties sheathed in long white rubber aprons, their faces covered by scented surgical masks, their hands sealed in white rubber gloves.

Beverley lowers the left side of cot and, with very obvious care and trepidation, the two girls set about rolling poor Chrissy and Prissy to the edge of the rubber mattress.

The sissies whimper helplessly into their gags as they are moved to the edge, liquid waste matter sloshing in their nappies, tears of humiliation and discomfort pouring from their eyes and soaking through the fine, sheer material of the nylon hoods.

The girls slowly tilt the sissies up off the edge of the mattress so that they are left standing more or less upright. "Standing" is perhaps the wrong word: the sissies bodies have been numb for over 10 hours, and now they are little more than a block of senseless human meat. It is only at the girls begin to unbuckle the thick leather belts trussing Chrissy and Prissy together that the first spastic twitches of feeling begin to return to their tormented bodies.

As the rubber sack is subsequently peeled from this helpless she-male package, the heavy breathing and gasps of the two lovely girls betray the stink that is now filling the room. The she male captives are so deeply and utterly humiliated: regressed in such a fundamental manner, trapped in this most intimate and severe form of babyish helplessness, they are now at their most vulnerable, and thus their most compliant. Yet the two girls are too appalled by the results of their kinky plans to exploit the situation. Their main aim is to strip and wash the sissies as quickly as possible. Then they can have some fun.

Eventually, their arms still lashed behind their backs, their mouths still filled with the scented panty gags and taped shut, dressed in the silken sleep suits, Chrissy and Prissy are led from the main nursery area into the bathroom, whimpers of despair trickling from their sealed mouths, their legs only gradually returning to proper mobility, each tiny step a small agony of muscular aches and pains.

And it is only once they are in the large, gleaming bathroom that the they begin to perceive fully this strange space and their two gorgeous female captors.

Both Heather and Beverley are wearing white rubber aprons that run from their substantial, shapely chests to their knees. The lower halves of their faces are covered by surgical masks, again made from rubber. As they move about the bathroom, both sissies get a teasing view of the back of the pretty girls. Each is wearing a very short skirt – Beverley's a red leather mini, Heather's a tight black velvet mini whose figure hugging qualities reveal a very beautiful, perfectly formed backside –, very sheer black nylon tights displaying two pairs of very long, shapely legs, very high heeled, black patent leather court shoes and tight nylon sweaters – Beverley's white and Heather's black. Both have bound their long hair in tight, stern buns, and both are wearing white rubber gloves. Two very disturbing and very beautiful visions of female perfection.

The bathroom itself is in fact much larger than it appeared the day before. A substantial quadrangular space, its walls and floor are covered in gleaming pink tiles. In one corner is a large, oblong bath, and besides it are two shower cubicles. The floor slopes downward from all sides to a circular centre point which is covered by a latticed metal grill. On the far side of the room are two large sink units with two mirrored medicine cabinets above them. Next to the sinks are what appear to be two very large pink enamel potties raised a few feet from the floor. Fitted to the bottom of each potty is a wide silver tube that runs directly into the floor.

The poor, terrified sissies examine this strange room with wide, fear stained eyes and moan helplessly into their tight, mouth filling gags. To them this appears more a torture chamber than a bathroom, a view which is confirmed when Beverley strolls over to the sinks, opens a hidden panel by one of the medicine cabinets and reveals a row of red buttons.

'The bathroom has been designed with the hygiene needs of the sissy very much in mind,' Heather says, the wicked edge in her naturally husky voice reflected by the look of absolute sadistic malice filling her gorgeous eyes.

Beverley presses the top button and a slight electrical humming is immediately heard above the she males' heads. The sissies look up and discover two panels in the ceiling slowly sliding back to reveal a strange pulley mechanism. Then two lengths of silver chain begin to descend.

The sissies squeal fearfully into their fat panty gags as the chains move towards them. On the end of each chain is a long, black rubber sheath device. As the chains fall level with the sissies, Beverley and Heather begin the testing task of removing their babified captives' dainty and now very smelly clothing.

Waves of utter humiliation wash across the two sissy slaves and more tears of despair begin to flow from their wide, fear filled eyes. Their suffering is extreme and apparently endless. The long night has been a truly appalling and traumatising experience, yet now they are to be subject to an even greater degradation at the hands of these two beautiful, sadistic young women.

Beverley and Heather untie the sissies and remove the mittens. They very carefully unbutton the pretty, sexy romper suits and pull them from the bodies of their charges. The girls are two bomb disposal experts delicately discontenting the wires of an explosive device that might, at any second, detonate and destroy them.

As soon as the suits have been removed, the true nature of the punishment fills the room. The girls gasp into their masks and the sissies moan pathetically into their unyielding, inescapable gags. Then things happen very quickly. The girls speedily pull silken stockings from silken legs, gingerly haul down the bright, noisy plastic panties, and virtually rip the full nappies from the she-male's lower bodies.

Louder gasps of horror are accompanied by even louder squeals of self loathing embarrassment as waste matter trickles down silky smooth she-male legs.

The girls quickly load the messed clothing into a huge plastic dirty washing bin before returning to their grim task. They re-secure their sobbing sissy charges and Beverly takes up one of the strange rubber sheaths attached to the chains, while Heather very roughly grabs a shocked Chrissy's arms and forces them behind his back.

He squeals into his panty gag and Heather slaps his wobbling sissy buttocks twice very hard.

'Be still and keep quiet, you silly little girl!' she snaps.

'Hit him harder,' Beverley encourages. 'He obviously likes it.'

This opaque remark relates to a simple and inescapable fact: as the clothes have been removed from the two whimpering, wiggling sissies, it has become very apparent that, despite the terrible humiliation and suffering they are being forced to endure, both remain physically excited: their sexes are now fully exposed and revealed to be as erect as the tight, tormenting rubber cock restrainers will allow. Despite everything that has happened to them, and indeed is continuing to happen, for some strange, dark reason, they are sexually aroused.

Blushing furiously and moaning into the gags, tears of fear and despair pouring from their pretty sissy eyes, Prissy and Chrissy confess their helpless arousal, an arousal that has been with them all through the long, terrible night, an arousal that both have been forced to confront in the terrible intimacy of their kinky, inescapable bondage. Struggling in the dark, their nappies filled, their slender sissy forms totally immobilised, they had remained hard and horny, scented memories of a sexy mother and a stunningly beautiful Mrs Eve filling their minds.

As Heather and Beverley force Chrissy's arms into the long rubber sheath, he is pushed forward and his hard, angry cock presses painfully into his corseted stomach.

The sheath covers his hands completely and is pulled tightly up his elbows and to the very tops of his shoulders, pulling them very painfully together. He squeals in pain, pushed even further downward and forward by the terrible pressure on his shoulders. The girls then use leather straps sown into the gleaming, skin tight rubber material to force his arms together in an even tighter, more painful embrace.

By the time they have finished, poor Chrissy is bent forward in a deeply uncomfortable "r" shape, which is then made worse as Beverley returns to the wall and proceeds to press a second large plastic button. This causes the chain to rise and pull poor Chrissy's tethered wrists up towards the ceiling, which in turn squeezes his already pressurised elbows together and forces his head and chest even further down towards the tiled floor.

Chrissy squeals furiously into his fat, unyielding gag, his panic and pain all too evident. The girls laugh cruelly and continue their work without even a whisper of concern.

Heather kneels down by Chrissy's feet. A number of the pink floor tiles have small metal loops set about half an inch inside their enamel surfaces. Each sissy has been positioned so that his legs are about two feet either side of two such tiles. Heather unfolds the loop and uses it to pull the tile out of the floor. Beneath is a much larger square hole containing a pink rubber shackle attached to a length of silver chain, which is in turn wound around a small plastic wheel. Heather pulls the shackle from the hole and the chain gradually unwinds behind it. She then slips the shackle over Chrissy's left foot and positions it tightly around his ankle. She repeats this process with the right ankle, stretching Chrissy's legs wide apart in the process and ensuring even greater discomfort and exposure.

Stretched and bent forward painfully, the unfortunate sissy is now utterly helpless and ready for whatever strange and no doubt perverse fate his two young mistresses have planned. Yet his suffering is increased by terrible anticipation as Heather proceeds to repeat the binding and positioning ritual with a loudly squealing, terrified Prissy.

Soon both the sissies have been positioned. It is at this point that a clearly excited Beverley presses the third and final button. A further mechanical whirl echoes above the sissies heads and a long metal tube attached to what appears to be a pink hose pipe descends from the same dark space as the chain and glove device.

'The bathroom is the piece de resistance of our plans for your complete sissification,' Heather explains. 'From here we can prepare and manipulate your bodies in a vast variety of very kinky and, if necessary, punitive ways. Here you are truly objects of experiment and amusement.'

Heather takes the metal tube in her rubber gloved hands and aims it directly at Chrissy's pert, exposed backside. The pretty sissy cannot see that at the end of the tube is a white plastic nozzle, which the gorgeous teenager then precedes to turn, almost immediately unleashing a powerful spray of warm soapy water which splashes violently against Chrissy's tormented, helpless form.

The embarrassingly pretty sissy squeals with fear and shock into his fat, pungent panty gag. His lips strain uselessly against the thick masking tape holding them so tightly together. Laughing loudly, Heather then proceeds to hose the waste matter from her sissy brother's wiggling form, paying special and cruel attention to the dark space between his wobbling buttocks. In the next ten minutes, he is subject to a thorough and painful washing, soaked from head to foot by the detailed and cruel attentions of his sister. The water pools around the drain, which is now directly above his stretched, tormented buttocks and then swirls slowly into blackness.

The water from the hose is highly scented, and the reluctant sissy is soon not only drenched but also very sweetly perfumed.

'The power of the jet means the scent is virtually injected into your pores,' Heather shouts above the whoosh of the water. 'Soon, this will be your natural body odour. A lot better than all those nasty boy smells!'

Eventually, Heather is satisfied that her she-brother has been properly cleaned. Then she turns her wicked attentions to poor Prissy. And after another ten minutes of aggressive cleansing, well-gagged sissy squealing and pathetic, terrified wiggling, the jet is turned off and the hose returned to its home in the bathroom ceiling. Yet no sooner has the hose been replaced than two more lengths of pink rubber hosing are descending.

'Now we've cleaned you outside, it's time to concentrate on the inside,' Heather explains, as Beverley joins her gorgeous companion.

The girls remove their tight, rubberised surgical masks and then take up a pink hose each. The sissies, of course, can see nothing, and if they could, there is no doubt their squeals would have been even more desperate and fearful; for at the end of each of the new hoses is a very different kind of nozzle, one shaped exactly like an erect, circumcised penis, and made from a hard, hot pink rubber!

'Now it's time for a nice, warm enema,' Beverley teases. 'We'll fill you up with scented, soapy water and empty out any of the nasty male mess that is still hiding inside.'

The word "enema" is enough to inspire new levels of panic stricken squeals, but it is only a matter of seconds before the girls have stepped forward and eased the phallic heads of the nozzles between the soft, tender and very exposed skin of the sissies girlish buttocks.

As the nozzles are pushed deep into the she-males' back passages, squeals of fear turn to squeals of pain, and soon more tears of despair and discomfort are pouring from their pretty, wide sissy eyes, squeals that rise an entire octave as the nozzles encounter quite stiff resistance and are then rammed home with a cruel determination.

Once the enema tubes are locked deep within the sissy captives' back passages, Beverly returns to the button panel and turns, rather than pushes, the bottom button. Another electrical hum from above indicates more sinister activity. Then the sissies bodies stiffen. A thick, soapy and highly scented stream of water is now being slowly pumped into their bowels. Although the the sad symphony of squeals continue, the sissy wiggling virtually ceases. Both she-males remember the ultra-humiliating effect of the laxative drugs, the terrible feelings that gripped their guts last night. This, unfortunately, is an all too familiar sensation!

Eventually, the flow of water ceases. Chrissy and Prissy remain as still, whimpering, silently pleading for mercy, amazed at the elaborate depths of their cruel and apparently permanent punishment and terrified by the simpering sissy future that awaits them. Yet even in the heart of such torment, such embarrassment and such pain, both remain violently erect, their sexes rock hard in their deceptively soft rubber re-strainers.

The two girls then step forward and very carefully remove the nozzles. The poor sissies squeal into their gags, aware that any second they will helplessly void the contents of their bowels just as they had done a few hours before. But as they whip the nozzles out, the girls very quickly shove a phallic shaped length of pink wax between their charges backsides.

'The wax will hold for just a few minutes,' Heather announces, 'so I suggest you co-operate when we release you.'

The sissies fall silent. As the hoses are retracted into the ceiling, the girls set about releasing their soaked and deeply humiliated captives from their terrible bondage.

They are then made to stand up and almost immediately each is overwhelmed by a terrible and familiar urge to void their full, tormented bowels.

Whimpering pathetically into their panty gags, tears flooding from their fear widened eyes, the two sissies are then led towards the strange and deeply humiliating potties on the other side of the bathroom.

The sissies rub their numb, pained arms and stare at the bizarre toilet devices, their faces covered in a film of desperate discomfort and embarrassment.

'Sit on the potties and clean yourselves out,' Heather snaps.

Shaking, their pleading eyes seeking a non-existent mercy in the beautiful captors' faces, the two tortured she-males very gradually lower their backsides onto the curved edges of the potties. Because of the elevation, they find that their buttocks sink deep within the potty bowl and their feet are forced up off the tiled floor. This in turn puts an added pressure on their bowels, and within a few seconds both have voided the pints of soapy, scented water, moaning and sobbing with a dreadful, agonising embarrassment, their sufferings accompanied by the loud, cruel laughter of Heather and the gorgeous Beverley.

'Now you're clean inside and out,' Heather announces, pulling her brother up from the potty.

Beverly helps a loudly sobbing Prissy and then the two sissies are brought back into the middle of the room. Here their bottoms are gently cleaned with scented baby wipes and they are both wrapped in very large, scented pink towel. Their bodies and hair are roughly dried and the towels are removed. Then a thick cloud of pink coloured, heavily scented talcum powder envelopes their sissy forms.

They are led back into the bedroom utterly crushed, so very deeply humiliated, and terrified of the next torment awaiting them. Yet even in the heart of this degradation, their cocks rise stiffly and proudly upward, pretty prisoners in soft, tight rubber.

*

In the next hour, the two sissies are expertly returned to the state of intricate, babified beauty that first enveloped them the day before. Any possible resistance is stifled by the horror of the last 30 minutes and the ever present threat of Heather's vicious, elegant riding crop.

They quickly find themselves sitting back in front of the sissy dressing table, staring at the large oval mirror in horror at their somewhat dishevelled, naked and denuded forms, reluctant witness a new and so deeply humiliation feminisation at the hands of their gorgeous, determined young mistresses.

The girls slip out of their rubber masks and aprons and the sissies cannot resist filling their wide, tormented eyes with the striking images presented by the two teenage beauties. In their micro mini-skirts, very sheer, dark hose, high heels and tight nylon sweaters, the girls are stunning visions of female beauty and power. Poor Chrissy, already appalled by his helpless and furious desire for his mother, now finds himself looking at his gorgeous sister with a renewed sexual hunger cut through with a dreadful, soul crushing guilt. Then his eyes wander to the lovely, red headed Beverley and guilt is fully consumed by a furious and mind bending desire. His cock twitches with spastic desperation in its tight, slick red rubber prison. He feels the ring tighten around his testicles. What is happening to me, he wonders. How I can be so humiliated and frightened and yet so terribly aroused!?

The thick tape is pulled from their soft, tormented lips and the fat panty gags removed. They gasp with relief but are warned even a single whimper will result in a thrashing with the crop. Their short, helplessly boyish hair is then blow dried and carefully brushed into a simple and disturbing male style that aggressively reaffirms Helen Noble's determination to transform her son and his naughty best friend into the sissiest of ultra-feminised boys. Despite the torments of the day before, and the soaking they have received that morning, the sissies make-up is utterly flawless, testament indeed to the dye based materials employed in its wicked manufacture. Thus, once their hair has been arranged, poor Chrissy and Prissy find themselves staring at two sweet, doe-eyed china dolls, whose faces are covered in white foundation cream and hot pink lipstick, plus very long false eyelashes. Then, perhaps surprisingly, the girls provide to add new eye shadow – Prissy's a soft sunflower yellow, and Chrissy's a delicate powder blue. Then, matching exactly the tones of the eye shadow, two new and very large circles of rouge are applied, one on each snow white cheek.

Once the make up has been completed, a tap on sissy thighs from Heather's crop tells the two sissies to stand. Then they are drowned in a mist of very powerful rose scented perfume. The captive she-males blink and sob, but there is no protest. Yet their eyes widen in fear and potential resistance when they are both ordered by Beverley to bend forward, with their legs apart, and touch the floor. This hesitation earns them booth a harsh, stinging cut of the crop to their backsides. They then obey immediately, crying with pain, terrified, utterly degraded.

Soon cries of pain have been replaced by girlish squeals of discomfort and helpless arousal, as the girls apply large amounts of KY jelly to their rubber gloved fingers and begin deeply and intricately to grease the sissies already stretched back passages.

'Keep still!' Heather snaps, using her free hand to slap her brother's pretty bottom as she works her rubber sheathed finger deep into his arsehole.

After five tormenting minutes, the fingers are removed. Yet the freedom from intrusion is tortuously short. Within a few seconds the cool tip of the awful pink rubber, ribbed phallic vibrators are being pressed against the dark tip of the sissies back passages and then gently eased inside.

Chrissy and Prissy squeal with a deeply ambivalent humiliation as the vibrators are slipped deep inside them, their rubberised cocks pressing hard into their slender waists, a film of sex sweat now covering their creased, deeply worried brows.

Once satisfied that the vibrators are lodged at a sufficient depth, the girls order their pathetic, tormented charges to stand upright and to attention. As the sissies obey, the vibrators sink even deeper into their backsides and whimpers of helpless arousal escape their soft, painted lips.

'You can't help being turned on,' Heather hisses at Chrissy, 'because you're a silly little gay sissy. Not the hard man you pretended to be, but a weak, mincing little girl boy who secretly wants to be taken by a real man.'

Poor Chrissy's eyes widen with a sudden fury and Heather applies another hard cut of the crop. He squeals and his eyes widen with pain and an even greater anger.

'Good,' his sister spits. 'You stay angry. Because the angrier you are, the greater your humiliation and the deeper your suffering, and the more pleasure I'll take in turning you into the prettiest, daintiest sissy that has ever lived. Now let's get you pantied and hosed.'

In the next thirty minutes, the two reluctant she-males are enveloped in the sweet, intricate and deeply embarrassing sissy attire that is now their permanent dress. Their male clothes have already been donated to charity, along with every other trace of their masculine selves. Chrissy's room has been given to Heather, and her original room has been transformed into a "sissy training area".

Chrissy and Prissy must suffer this teasing dressing with wide, troubled eyes and the cruel jibes of Heather and Beverley. Yet, even in the dreadful humiliation of their fetishistic changing there is an ambivalence of emotions. As they are forced, on pain of a further intervention from the crop to slip their long, silky smooth legs into the tight, surprisingly soft pink rubber panties, a feeling of undeniable and deeply feminine pleasure grips their sissy bodies and their rubber imprisoned cocks twitch with excitement.

This strange arousal is made much worse once the long, tight panty girdle has been hauled into place around their girlish waists and they are presented with two pairs of panty hose. Both are made from a very sheer nylon. The pair that Beverley holds before a tormented, helplessly excited and deeply embarrassed Prissy is white and covered in hundreds of tiny, glittering snow flakes. The pair that Heather holds before Chrissy is powder blue and covered in silver stars that tinkle prettily in the powerful strip lighting that illuminates the nursery.

They are ordered to sit and stretch out their long, silken legs. They do so without hesitation, terrified of another cut of the crop, their sissy eyes pinned to the gorgeous tights.

The girls then kneel by their helpless she-male charges and begin to draw the sheer hose up over the sissies feet and legs. The kiss of soft nylon on ultra-sensitive, shaven skin is immediate and deeply pleasurable. Both sissies fight to resist the impact the hose, but whimpers of pleasure soon escape their pretty pink lips and their captors quickly take this opportunity to tease the boy-girls even more remorselessly.

'Yes, you're loving it,' Heather snaps, a cruel smile lighting up her beautiful face. 'Soft, sexy tights are just too much for you – the sign of true sissies.'

They are ordered to stand. The girls pull the lovely tights up over their thighs and guide them gently into position around their panty girdled waists. They then step back to admire their handiwork and disturbed smiles of cruel satisfaction and surprise quiver across their lovely, painted lips.

'Great legs,' Heather whispers.

Beverley nods, her emerald eyes glazed with an unmistakable arousal.

And there is also arousal in sissy eyes: powerful and frightening, a terrible confession and an awful torment. The struggle against these strange feelings, in the midst of this dreadful feminised fate, is desperate and useless - the more the sissies fight, the more excited they seem to become.

Quietened by the effect of the hose, the two sissies are then quickly imprisoned in pairs of lace be-frilled silk panties, each matching almost exactly the colour of the tights, before the pink rubber mini corsets are tied even tighter, taking at least another inch off their already slender waists. Then come the next items of terrifying sissification: two pairs of patent leather court shoes with awe-inspiring 5 inch heels, each again exactly colour coded and each with a beautiful diamond butterfly ornament rising from the sharply pointed, gleaming toes.

As the shoes girls hold the shoes before Chrissy and Prissy, fear returns to sex addled eyes. A wave of the crop and the two sissies reluctantly arch their sexy, hosed feet and allow the two mistresses to slip them into the teasing embrace of soft, tight patent leather. Having already been subject to the discipline of high heels, the feeling of immediate elevation is not unfamiliar, but it is still frightening, particularly given the length of the heels compared with the sissy ankles boots they had been forced into the day before.

The sissies sway fearfully and the girls gently help them to maintain their balance. They are given the opportunity to mince back and forth for a few minutes. The heels have an immediately feminising effect, forcing Chrissy and Prissy to wiggle their slender hips and take small, dainty steps to maintain a centre of gravity that will allow them to remain upright. Also, as their long, shapely legs are drawn closer together, there buttocks clench helplessly and the teasing vibrators are pushed even deeper into their anuses, thus making each step a terribly arousing experience!

'Good,' Heather whispers, once again impressed both by her brother's almost natural femininity and the power such femininity is giving her.

Satisfied, the girls return once again to the wardrobe. They produce two stunning sissy dresses. Initially, each appears exactly like the hot pink frocks that had made the previous day such a torment. Again, each is made from stunning satin, yet this time colour coded with the tights – Prissy's in a soft, creamy yellow, Chrissy's in a delicate powder blue; each with long, puffed arms whose wrists, very high button up necks and very short skirts are ringed with thick white lace frills. And sown into each skirt are layers of thick pink lace petticoating. Yet where yesterday's dresses were decorated with roses, today's have more specific patterns – silver silk snow flakes for Prissy, to match those sprinkled across his tights, and sparkling silver stars for Chrissy, which also match his tights.

The lovely, whimpering, aroused sissies are quickly helped into the dresses. As they slip into these glorious feminine prisons, a sense of absolute envelopment washes over them, a consummation that very clearly sets out the true and permanent nature of their intricate, wicked petticoat punishment.

The girls button their she-boy charges into the dresses with an increasing sense of their own power and sexual excitement.

'Very soon, you will be able to dress and make up each other. Won't that be fun!?'

The sissies say nothing. All they can do is stare down at the gorgeous, humiliating dresses in absolute amazement and experience a sense of horror cut through with awful, unforgiving sexual need.

Once sealed in the dresses, they are quickly tied into matching mittens and then, perhaps most shockingly, exactly matching silk bonnets. Then the final, terrible touch, the concluding and ultimate item of terrible sissy humiliation: the dummy gag. Yet even this most painful symbol of their babified feminisation is not entirely the end. For as Beverley takes two fresh dummy gags, with colour coded plastic plates and long, flesh toned rubber teats, from the dressing table, Heather is taking a small plastic jar filled with a strange yellow liquid from the rows of shelving fixed to the far wall of the nursery. Before the sissies, she slowly unscrews the metal cap and takes the yellow dummy from Beverley. With the cruellest of smiles, she then dips the teat into the liquid.

'A very special cocktail that we whipped up after you'd been put to bed last night,' the lovely sister explains.

The sissies watch in horrified fascination.

'Yes, I think you've guessed – piss. The mixed urine of mummy, Debbie and Mrs Eve. A little reminder of their most intimate tastes to keep you going through what will be a very long and hard day.'

Now there is only disgust and anger. This bridge too far is met with cries of horror and refusal.

'No!' poor Chrissy cries. 'Please, no!!'

But Beverley has already grabbed Prissy's arms and forced them tightly behind his back. As she binds his be-frilled and mittened wrists together with a length of yellow silk ribbon, Heather is already approaching the sissy, waving the dummy threateningly before him.

'Open up…there's a good girl,' she whispers. 'Or do you want ten cuts of the crop?'

Chrissy, unable to walk at speed, totters back against the wall, shaking his head and crying, watching in horror as Beverley grabs Prissy by the neck and forces him to open his mouth. Heather then rams the dummy home with one wicked thrust and Beverley forces his mouth shut before using the two yellow silk ribbons that run from the plastic base to tie it very tightly in place at the back of the exquisitely babyish bonnet.

Tears of disgust flood from poor Prissy's eyes and he shakes his head angrily. He squeals with horror as the bitter tang of the dummy fills his helpless mouth. Chrissy watches this in utter horror, but can do very little as the girls turn their attentions to him. Once again it is Beverley, tall, strong, beautiful Beverley who grabs the ultra-sissified boy and drags him back beside a writhing, sobbing Prissy. She easily pulls his mittened and thus immobilised hands behind his back and then lashes them together at the wrists with a long length of powder blue ribbon. She grabs him by his be-frilled neck and uses her free hand to squeeze his nose. Eventually, the desperate sissy opens his mouth to take in air and then his wicked, gorgeous sister strikes, popping the urine soaked dummy into his mouth with a bitter, dark smile and then watching with deep satisfaction as Heather binds it in place with powder blue ribbons.

The girls step back to view the fruit of their kinky labour. Both sissies are squealing and wiggling, their eyes wide with horror and anger. Both are visions of striking sissy beauty, quite delightful in their short, sexy baby girl dresses, which rise up as they wiggle to reveal inches of pretty petticoating and a clear view of their long legs wrapped in sheer, sensual hose and lovely, exactly matching, lace drowned silk panties.

Heather's eyes meet her she-brother's and again she encounters a terrible fury, yet a fury still interlaced with a powerful and quite irresistible desire.

'You both look quite divine,' she teases, stepping forward and then very quickly slipping a hand under Chrissy petticoats.

His eyes widen even further and his squealing ceases. She runs a long, blood red nailed index finger along the hard outline of his cock, which is imprisoned in layers of rubber, elastane and silk, but which is still clearly discernable.

'Mummy told me what you did to her, Chrissy,' Heather whispers, stroking his tormented sex and turning squeals into helpless moans of pleasure. 'How you made her come. She told us all. Well, I'm curious…now I want a go.'

She smiles, her eyes suddenly fill with a teasing, sexual promise that reveals her true age and which both disturbs and excites her sissy brother.

She steps back and allows Beverley to use more matching ribbons to bind the sissies elbows tightly and painfully together. Then she returns to the wardrobe. As the lovely redhead searches the wardrobe's hidden drawers, Heather explains the day ahead.

'This is your first day of formal training. Now you will be taken to the kitchen to meet Mummy, Debbie and Mrs Eve. Then you will start to learn what being a sissy maid really means. Today, you will be introduced to the domestic arts. You will also be begin your training in movement and general deportment, and how to tend to the needs of your mistresses. Chrissy will act as Mistress Debra's personal maidservant. Prissy will fulfil the same function for Mummy, but will also wait on Mrs Eve when she is present in the house. At the beginning of next week, you will also begin to carry out a wider role as domestic servants for the neighbourhood.'

Chrissy, his mouth filled with the most intimate taste of his mother, her best friend and the gorgeous Mrs Eve, beholds his sister with a strange mixture of anger, fear and lust. Even in this terribly embarrassing, painful state, he cannot help but be impressed by her. She was always the clever one, always the top of her class, always the object of so many of his friends' secret sexual fantasies. Suddenly, and to his amazement, he is in awe of her, of her articulate descriptions of his terrible sissy fate, of her great physical beauty, of her self control and natural female power. His tear stained eyes soften and his sex twitches. He looks at her full, shapely breasts straining against the tight black nylon of the sweater and knows that he will suckle on them soon. Their eyes meet again and the anger is gone. Momentarily, there is disappointment in Heather's eyes, but then, for the shortest instance, there is a smile, a soft, sisterly smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

'The collars!' she suddenly snaps. 'Very good!'

Beverley has returned, and in her hands are two pink leather collars. Attached to each is a length of silver chain. Strangely, after about three feet of slack, the two lengths have been fused together into a single, white leather leash.

Beverly quickly fixes the tight, very uncomfortable collars around the sissies satin and lace enveloped necks. She then takes up the slack of the joined chains and hands the leash to Heather. Heather smiles her more familar cruel, triumphant smile and tugs aggressively on the leash. The two helpless sissies stagger forward and quickly find themselves tottering desperately on their high heels behind the two young women, their bottoms wiggling uncontrollably, the vibrators teasing their anuses with each tiny, fearful step.

The sissies whimper into their tormenting dummy gags, their eyes pinned helplessly to the long, hosed legs of their gorgeous captors, and they are led with beating hearts and rock hard cocks toward their new ultra-feminine destiny.

 

Chapter Four

In Training – Part 1

After a very difficult and frightening negotiation of the steep stairs leading up from the Nursery, the two sissy beauties are taken back down the main corridor of the house and into the kitchen. Here they are presented to Helen, Debra and the gorgeous Mrs Eve.

The three women are sitting at an elegant breakfast bar, and as Heather and Beverley lead the reluctant she-males into the kitchen, a chorus of teasing exclamations fill the room.

'Oh, aren't they simply lovely!' Helen cries, rising from the bar and rushing forward to get a clear view of her mortified, humiliated she-son.

'I like the collars,' Debra snaps. 'Our own little sissy pets. We should keep them leashed all the time.'

Although almost overwhelmed by embarrassment, Chrissy cannot help look up at the fine, impressive form of his mother and feel a new, even more powerful wave of desire for her wash over his intricately feminised form.

She stands before him like a goddess, a powerful, beautiful symbol of maternal authority. Dressed in a knee length black skirt and a crisp, semi-transparent white blouse, with very sheer black nylon hose and stiletto heeled court shoes, his mother is both a stern school mistress and a buxom sex bomb. Her large, perfectly formed breasts rise and fall with a girlish excitement in a pretty lace edged brassiere that is visible through the semi-transparent material of the blouse. Poor Chrissy's eyes devour these elegant, sensual orbs desperately, memories of the previous evening's erotic suckling exploding brightly in his sex addled mind. Her powerful musk perfume washes over him as she moves closer, taking his chin in a blood red nailed hand and tilting his head up so that her powerful dark eyes are burning directly into his.

'Do you like your new outfit, Chrissy? It looks marvellous on you, I must say.'

Her words, filled with a teasing sexual intent, inspire a helpless nod and the women burst in peels of cruel laughter.

'You've got him in the palm of your hand already, Helen,' Debra says, her cold, hard stare now aimed directly at her own she-son.

Prissy, however, does not return her mother's gaze, for his eyes are pinned very tightly to the exquisite form of Mrs Eve.

The black beauty is dressed in a figure hugging, red silk trouser suit that displays her considerable physical charms to perfection. Stiletto heeled ankle boots of black patent leather accentuate the length and shape of her elegant legs, and beneath the suit jacket she is wearing a white nylon, polo-necked sweater. She rises from the bar and strolls over to her new sissy plaything, her walk pure sex, her brown eyes fired by a recently awakened erotic power.

'My sweet little sunflower,' she teases, provocatively slipping a hand beneath Prissy's exploding petticoats. The poor sissy squeals furiously into his fat dummy gag as her hands seek out the tormented outline of his imprisoned sex.

'I thought about you last night, poppet,' she whispers. 'About what you did to me. Tonight, if you behave yourself, I'm going to acquaint that clever little mouth of yours with something far more secret and sensual.'

Prissy's eyes widen in shock and furious arousal.

'Do you understand, my pretty petal?'

Like Chrissy, Prissy nods and the women burst into more cruel laughter.

'Good,' Helen interjects. 'Now let's get them ready for breakfast.'

The collars attaching the two whimpering, pretty sissies to the common leash are removed. Heather and Beverley then their dainty charges over towards two very familiar, adult-sized high chairs that are standing in the centre of the kitchen. Their arms are untied and they are then helped to turn and climb up into the raised, deeply humiliating chairs, then sit down on pink leather seats. As they sit, the short skirts of their elaborate baby girl's dresses rise up and their sexy, be-frilled panties are fully exposed to the aroused and darkly amused eyes of their mistresses.

Their wrists and ankles are strapped to the arms and legs of the high chairs via soft, pink leather shackles and plastic table tops decorated with large, smiling teddy bears are snapped into place. Helpless and hapless, the most intimate tastes of their mistresses tormenting their mouths, the poor, wide-eyed sissies can only moan fearfully into their dummy gags and await the next stage of their apparently never ending petticoat punishment.

As Beverley and Heather prepare a very sissy breakfast, Helen Noble stands before the two trapped she-males and reveals the day of humiliation that lies before them.

'As you have been already been told, today is the beginning of your formal training,' she says, her tall, firm figure a terrible torment for the two sissies, their eyes filled with fierce, overpowering desire and a deep dread. 'Today you will begin to understand the true and permanent nature of your sissification. Today you will confront and accept the simple fact of your complete and utter subjugation and the inescapable reality of a life long servitude to womankind.'

As she speaks, her large, perfect formed chest strains against the semi-transparent material of the lovely white blouse and poor Chrissy moans helplessly into the dummy gag, remembering the taste and texture of those glorious orbs and wishing only that he could once again be allowed to suckle his beautiful, sexy mother.

'After breakfast, we will begin with an introduction to the Work Room. It is important you familiarise yourself with this space as quickly as possible, as it is where you will be spending a significant amount of your time. Here you will care for our clothes – wash, dry, iron, and as required, mend. Here you will also look after the cleaning equipment necessary to maintain the house. Yes, you will be required to keep both this house and Mrs Lane's house spotlessly clean. Indeed, once you have been fully trained, general housework, including all the washing and ironing, will take up 13 hours of each week day – from 7.00am to 8.00pm. At weekends, there will be other tasks, but during the week you will be required to act as house maids for myself, Mrs Lane and the rest of the women of the neighbourhood.'

'After the introduction to the Work Room, we will begin your training. First, with some general housework instruction, overseen by Heather and Beverley. This will keep you entertained until lunch-time, when you have an appointment with Ms Blaine. Then, this afternoon, you will receive movement and deportment training with myself and Mrs Eve, followed by a make up session with Mrs Lane. You will then spend an hour in the training room undergoing bondage and isolation therapy, or, as you will come to know it – BAIT. After dinner, you will begin your more personal maid training.'

The puzzled expressions on the sissies faces bring a cruel smile to Helen's gorgeous scarlet lips.

'I believe you have already been told that as well as your general house maid duties, you will also act as our personal servants and sexual toys. Chrissy will service Mrs Lane's needs, and Prissy will service mine. On the occasions she is present in the house, Prissy will also service Mrs Eve.'

A flash of sudden and very deep jealously explodes in Chrissy's pretty eyes at the thought of Prissy "servicing" his beautiful, beloved mother.

Helen Noble laughs loudly at this sign of her sissy son's desperate desire.

'Oh don't worry, Chrissy – we'll still have plenty of time to play together.'

The other women join in the laughter as tears of despair begin to well up in Chrissy's eyes.

Further teasing is prevented by the return of Beverley and Heather. Beverley is carrying two plastic bowls of the pink mush, and Heather is carrying two extra large baby bottles filled with white liquid.

'Scrambled eggs with sugared milk. A perfect breakfast for two growing sissies!' Beverley teases, placing a bowl on each plastic table top.

The sissies look down at the food not with the perhaps predictable horror, but with a sudden, fierce need. The combination of the laxatives and the enema have left them starving hungry, and it is this fundamental human requirement that now brushes aside the terrible humiliation inherent in their petticoated predicament.

Beverley removes the dummy gags while Heather places an extra large bottle on each plastic tabletop. Despite this sudden freedom from the mouth filling, silencing dummies, the two tired, humiliated sissies make no sound. Indeed, they are so in need of food, they seem temporarily oblivious of their sissified condition and the torments that most surely await them.

The sissies are fed their baby breakfasts by the two teenage beauties, Beverley using a plastic spoon to carefully load the food into Prissy's eager mouth, as Heather feeds an equally enthusiastic Chrissy. And as soon as the food has been gobbled up, the large, clear rubber teats of the bottles are popped between delicately painted, helplessly pouting sissy lips and, with a furious, helplessly amusing sucking, the reluctant she males consume the pint and a half of warm sugared milk that each contains.

As they feed the sissies, the two girls tease them with mocking baby talk and general cruelty, tormenting words that the poor, starving she-males barely notice as they gulp down the food and milk.

Eventually, the bowls and bottles emptied, their hunger placated, Chrissy and Prissy are freed from the chairs and made to stand with their mittened hands behind their backs before the three older mistresses. Almost immediately both she-males feel a strange and very powerful surge of sexual arousal course through their expertly feminised bodies. As they stand before the gorgeous trio who have damned them to a life sentence in panties and hose, their eyes consume three stunning, mature female forms and the physical hunger for food is replaced by a tremendous hunger for sexual release.

'You're probably feeling rather horny about now,' Debra Lane says, her cruel, hard gaze burning mercilessly into her son's wide, girlish eyes.

'Well, that's hardly surprising, because both the food you received last night and this morning was laced with a powerful hormonal stimulant that induces feelings of very strong and quite inescapable sexual arousal. You see, part of your punishment is to desire your bondage, and eventually to beg us to turn you into the biggest, daintiest sissies imaginable.'

The sissies now know the source of the terrible sexual need that has afflicted them since the previous evening. They now know that to desire will be to be punished, and that to be punished will be to desire. This is the terrible, clever pathway to their absolute subjugation. A subjugation they will come to love.

As they stare in amazement and terror at their gorgeous mistresses, it is as if they are staring at the world through sex tinted glasses. Suddenly, the kitchen is alive with erotic potential; these three older women who have buried them alive in frillies, panties, hose and heels, appear glowing sex goddesses wrapped in the luminous costumes of pure desire. The sparkle of patent leather, the exact lines of long, statuesque legs sealed in the sheerest of sensual nylon hose, the erotic trajectory of perfectly cut silk blouses, the curving perfection of ample but still curvaceous buttocks stretched against skin tight slacks and skirts. Women whose wet, scarlet lips shimmer like pools of blood in moonlight; whose eyes emit the radiation of a terrible, inescapable desire for absolute control.

Then there is the terrible torment of the clothes that imprison them, the weapons of feminisation that are now demonstrating their full, awesome force. As their shaven, scented forms burn with fierce, unyielding sex heat, the sensations imparted by the fetishistic baby wear enveloping their sissified bodies are doubled, trebled, quadrupled into a mind bending whirlpool of tactile pleasure. The feel of the delicate, sensual nylon tights, the kiss of a thousand tiny, ultra-soft lips; the gloriously restraining hug of the corset and panty girdle; the masochistic pleasure of the helpless tottering demanded by the highest and sexiest of stiletto heels. The teasing rustle of the beautiful and intricate dresses; the tickle of lace beneath scented foundation covered chins. The ever present and increasingly pleasurable torment of the ribbed phalluses working deeper and deeper into their expanding back passages; the tight, erotic grip of the scarlet rubber re-strainer. This sissy circus of incredible transvestite spectacle.

Heather quickly re-inserts the urine soaked dummy gags and Beverley rebinds sissy wrists and elbows tightly together. Mrs Eve steps forward armed with the terribly humiliating hobble chains and a new torment: ankle bells - four metal loops covered in tiny bells which are designed to clip into place around sissy ankles and ring sweetly with each desperately mincing, ultra-high heeled step. The black beauty kneels elegantly before them, a strangely submissive gesture that belies her absolute authority, and secures these awful tools of female control.

'The bells will be both a constant reminder of your true and inescapable sissified state,' she purrs, looking up at poor Prissy with teasing, olive brown eyes, 'and also a means of ensuring that we, your various and many mistresses, are always aware of your location. Each step you take will announce your helpless and permanent babified state.'

The sissies look down at this latest terrible humiliation and feel both utter despair and an even stronger sexual arousal. It is as if they are two people bound together: their original, angry, outraged male selves and their new ultra sissified, pansy identities, and that the new identities are gradually taking control.

The bells and the hobble chain secured, the sissies are ordered to follow Heather and Beverley. They totter forward desperately, moaning fearfully and hungrily into their scented dummy gags, their arms stretching uselessly against expertly tied knots. Desperate to avoid tripping, each step is necessarily tiny, creating a helpless wiggle of the hips and a provocative wobble of the buttocks. With the three mistresses following, they are led back down the central corridor of the house and through a grey door that provides an internal access point to the garage. But now the garage is gone; or rather, what used to be the garage, like the cellar, has been converted, this time into a large rectangular workroom, laundry and storage facility, a space revealed to their stunned, frightened sissy eyes by a very powerful white strip light similar to the one that so effectively illuminates the nursery.

Concrete flooring has been covered with thick white rubber matting. The brick walls have been covered in a thick layer of plaster painted hot pink. The garage door has been removed and replaced with a wall and a large frosted glass window. Two huge, industrial sized spin dryers dominate the wall opposite the internal door, and in the centre of the room are three large white washing machines. Close to the washing machines are two king size ironing boards, each carrying a sleek, state of the art electric iron.

Eight white plastic washing baskets are stacked by the washing machines. Next to the spin dryers is a long utility space, complete with two big, deep silver sink units. Along the free space on both walls are row after row of shelving loaded with the tools of domestic labour: washing powders, fabric conditioners, washing up liquids, window cleaner, floor and other surface cleaners; toilet cleaner, dusters, clothes, tins of polish and cans of air freshner.

'Welcome to your office, my sissy boys,' Helen Noble teases. 'Here you will truly earn your keep and, we hope, ours.'

'This facility will enable you to do the washing and ironing for the whole neighbourhood,' Debra Lane adds, drinking up the looks of horror that now fill the sissies wide, girlish eyes. 'It is also the store for all the equipment and related materials that are required to clean this house and all the other homes of your neighbourhood mistresses. Basically, the store for a small private cleaning company…'

'One we hope will make us a tidy little profit and live a life of leisure,' Helen adds, her own smile cruel and wide.

The sissies stare at this dreadful prison cell, this mini workhouse, and realise how clever and truly wicked their mothers have been. Their feminine enslavement it not just a punishment for all their crimes against womankind – it is also a cynical exercise in money making. They are to be slaves in the truest and historically most accurate use of the term: unpaid labourers whose selves are little more than the property of their mistresses. And it is this simple, terrible fact that now begins to break through the mist of sex, the ambivalence of desire, the powerful grip of the stimulants cooking their feminised forms in a vat of helpless sexual need. Anger flares in Chrissy's eyes and he stares accusingly at his lovely laughing mother.

'Good!' she snaps. 'It's finally sunk in! Yes, it is about making you desire your feminisation, my pretties. But that isn't the nub of your true punishment. Your true punishment is to know that your are slaves, subdued, prettified and helplessly sexed; also exploited and used as tools for not just our pleasure, but for our enrichment. To know, finally, that your are truly objects. Our pretty, silly, sissy possessions.'

Chrissy moans loudly and angrily into his dummy gag and shakes his head furiously. Then a terribly familiar burst of sharp, brutal pain explodes across his thighs and his anger turns instantly into sissy squeals of agony: Heather has applied a hard, cruel cut of the crop to her she-brother's delicate hosed and very shapely thighs.

'Don't even think about it, Chrissy,' she snaps, bitter, hard laughter in her voice. 'This is your future. Get used to it.'

Tears of pain pour from the poor sissy's eyes and as he hops up and down on his perilously high heels, a symphony of tiny bells echoes throughout the work room.

'There will be times over the coming months and even years when you will consider escape. It is only natural, given the relentless humiliation, exhaustion and considerable physical discomfort you will be required to endure.'

Helen's words are spoken with a terrible authority, the voice of a very perverse and inevitable doom.

'But, rest assured, we have taken all the necessary precautions,' she says, pulling from a pocket in her skirt the awful metal control box first revealed in the nursery the previous afternoon.

The sissies eyes widen and moans of anger and pain turn into squeals of fear.

'As you know, the box controls the vibrators filling your backsides. As you also know, the vibrators can be sources of both pleasure and pain. The pain they emit is a combination of skin irritation and heat, and can be released at low, medium and high levels. What you don't know is that this box is linked into a much wider wireless alarm network that runs throughout the house. In fact, each room has a wireless sensor that can, when programmed, activate or de-activate the pain and pleasure settings on the vibrators. What this means is that we can use the network to ensure that you never leave the boundaries of the house without permission, and also to ensure that you remain where we wish you to be without constant surveillance or unnecessarily elaborate restraints. Thus, when you are working in this room on programmed washing and ironing activities, you will be unable to leave without setting off the sensor and activating the high pain level on the vibrators.'

As Helen explains the sinister sophistication of the prison she and Debra have designed, Heather takes the control box from her mother and points it threateningly at the sissies. Chrissy and Prissy squeal with genuine terror and shake their pretty heads desperately. Debra and Mrs Eve burst out laughing at their sissy fear.

'Just a brief burst, Heather,' Helen says, 'to give them a taste of what will happen if they venture into an area that is forbidden.'

Smiling and nodding, her eyes glued to Chrissy's, she then turns the dial to the right and presses it down. Within seconds a terrible burning is seeping deep into the sissies anuses, almost as if somebody had suddenly inserted a hot poker into their tender, backsides. Squeals of real, terrified pain follow, along with much hoping and wiggling. The women's laughter increases and then Heather somewhat reluctantly removes her finger from the plastic button. Almost as quickly as it had arrived, the pain subsides and the petrified sissies relax slightly.

'And that was only the briefest taste,' Heather spits. 'It gets much, much worse, the longer it is left to run.'

As the sissies recover from the shock of the vibrators, Helen turns to her daughter.

'I suggest you start them off with the transfers and then spend the rest of the morning supervising general housework.'

Heather smiles her agreement.

'We'll leave you in Heather and Bev's more than capable to hands. For the rest of the morning you will begin to learn basic domestic skills. We'll meet again at lunch.'

The sissies look on helplessly as Helen, Debra and Mrs Eve leave the room, laughing and chatting.

'Right!' Heather snaps, sending a jolt of fear through the she-male's tormented forms. 'Let's get you started!'

*

For the next hour, the two very unfortunate sissies begin to learn the rudiments of ironing. Their mittens are removed and replaced with thick pink rubber gloves that at least allow them the use of their fingers. They are led over to the two ironing boards and presented with another plastic washing basket filled with pairs of heavily be-frilled silk panties and two plastic bags that seem to contain pink satin, rectangular patches.

'Yesterday it was suggested that your panties should be named, to provide entertainment for your mistresses when you curtsey. We all agreed that was a good idea, so we have dug up some more of the transfer patches used on your pinafores.'

As Heather talks, Beverley goes over to the row of cupboards close to the opposite wall and extracts two long, pink rubber aprons. Smiling triumphantly, she brings the new items of feminine humiliation to the sissies and holds them up before their tormented eyes.

'As the work you will be required to undertake in this area involves water and soap, you will wear heavy duty rubber aprons. These will protect your dresses and hose,' she explains, holding back a smirk of pure cruelty.

Each apron, like the lovely silk and lace pinafores of the day before, has the name of its reluctant sissy owner written across its chest in elegant cherry red handwriting - a water proof transfer identical to the ones contained in the clear plastic bags.

The sissies are helped into the aprons. They are heavy, thick and very uncomfortable. They are tied in place with rubber cording at the base of the spine and at the bottom of the neck and cover the body from the top of the sissies flat chests down to the their delicately hosed ankles.

They are then shuffled up to the ironing boards. The irons are turned on and hissing. A cloud of semi-transparent moisture covers the area around the boards. Beverley takes up one of irons, extracts a pair of the sexy she-male panties from the wash basket and begins to demonstrate how to iron on the name transfers.

'Watch carefully, my pretties – you only get one demonstration. Then, if you make an error, it's five cuts of the crop each.'

The sissies wince at the thought of such a punishment and struggle to observe what Beverley is doing. This is made difficult by two things: the increasing power of the sexual stimulation that is coursing through their feminised forms and the discomfort created by the aprons, a discomfort that is best summed up by one word: heat. The aprons are making them very hot already. The room itself is clearly very warm and, once the washing machines and dryers are running, it is likely to be boiling!

Then it is Prissy's turn. Beverley steps back from the ironing board and the very nervous, frightened, sweating sissy totters forward. He is so frightened he can hardly lift up the iron. Then Heather taps his thigh with the crop and he proceeds, much to the girls' surprise, to iron the transfer onto the panties without a single misjudged stroke. Then Chrissy is brought forward and he too is set to work. And, perhaps miraculously, he also manages to iron the first transfer onto the panties without incident.

'Very good,' Heather whispers, a clear sense of surprise mixed with disappointment in her beautiful face. 'You have an hour to complete all the panties. You will each concentrate on your own names, to make things less testing. When we come back we will carry out a random sampling, and if there is the slightest sign of a fault on any, you will both receive five cuts of the crop each.'

The girls then turn to leave, but Heather then turns back.

'And one other thing. See the light above the door?'

They both look over towards the door leading back to the house and see a small, circular green light directly above it.

'The light is a key part of the sensor network. Each door in the house is now fitted with one. When it is green, you may move through the door; when it is red, moving through the door will activate the pain chip within the vibrator. So, from now on, always check the light before you leave or enter a room. Do you understand?'

The sissies nod wearily, Heather smiles curtly and then she and Beverley leave. As they close the door, the green light turns red and the two sissies face the terrible reality of their absolute imprisonment. Then they must confront each other, because the two ironing boards have been positioned so that they are face to face, and for the first time they have significant time to study what has been done to them by appraising the image of the other.

Chrissy stares at Prissy with a fierce embarrassment and a terrible, infuriating desire. Prissy is, without doubt, a disturbingly feminine figure, and if it wasn't for the short hair and flat chest, he would make a most convincing, if somewhat babyish teenage girl. Then he remembers that it is Mrs Lane's intention to bring about a full transformation of Prissy, that he will become most definitely and inescapably a "she". With his hands relatively free, it would be simple to remove the dummy gag and warn his friend of the terrible fate that awaits him, but fear of this fascist matriarchy is already rooted deep within his soul, and he is frightened of hidden cameras and the sudden activation of the pain sensors in the awful and helplessly pleasurable vibrators. It is clear that Prissy shares his fear, for he too makes no move to remove the fat, urine soaked dummy gag. Yet there is something else that prevents Chrissy warning Prissy of his fate – jealously. Now he knows that Prissy will act as personal servant to his beautiful, cruel mother and that she will, inevitably, insist he service her in exactly the way she has already demanded of Chrissy. The dark emotions this stirs up in the helpless sissy are enough to prevent any true gesture of friendship.

So Chrissy stares at Prissy, at this rather lovely vision now sealed from chest to ankles in pink rubber, this pretty, sexy sissy doll and feels his sex, so effectively imprisoned, fight a little harder against its restraint. Briefly he remembers writhing in the playpen and struggling in the cot, of the scented heat of Prissy's struggling form, of his hard cock pressing against Chrissy's own engorged sex, of the strange, tormenting intimacies that they have already shared, and he knows that even as he betrays his sissified friend, he will also desire him. Then he remembers the threat, or rather the promise, to extend his own feminisation; his mother's plans to subject him to a surgical alteration that will considerably enhance his feminine appearance, including the addition of breasts. He remembers this and feels terribly torn between fear, anger and a deeply perverse desire.

He begins to iron the transfers onto the soft, sissy panties, conscious of Heather's no doubt far from idle threat. Yet as he sets to work, he suddenly becomes aware of a slight buzzing deep inside his arse. His eyes widen, he moans fearfully into his fat dummy gag. Suddenly he is gripped by a very real terror: Heather has switched the vibrator on! He looks up and meets the terrified eyes of Prissy. Yet it quickly becomes clear this is not the appalling pain setting: after a few seconds, the vibrators make their erotic intent very clear: this is a mild pleasure setting, but with a hidden purpose. Even as he begins to moan helplessly with a terrible, angry arousal, he knows that this is simply sabotage, an attempt by Heather to distract the sissies from their labour and ensure that both feel the wicked cut of her viscous riding crop.

And so they struggle on, tormented by the vibrator, very quickly covered in sweat, lost in a vortex of powerful sexual desire and very real fear, fighting valiantly to complete their sissy task before their cruel mistresses return. But to fulfil this task without error is virtually impossible. Their minds are riddled with teasing sexual imagery, explosive and distracting visions of Helen and Mrs Eve, and mistakes are made.

Nevertheless, by the time Heather and Beverly return, all the transfers have been ironed onto the panties. Now, there is only the torture of the random inspection of the large pile filling the plastic washing basket.

Both sissies stand to a tormented attention and await the outcome of the inspection. Their wide, fear filled eyes meet and they moan helplessly into the dummy gags, the pleasuring of the vibrators a welcomed distraction from their fear.

'Mummy suggested a low level buzz to keep you on your tippy toes,' Beverley explained. 'She wants you to be constantly reminded of the presence of the vibrators, so we've agreed to run them at a low pleasure voltage for the working day.'

The sissies moan with a terrible frustration. Now they will be tormented by the teasing arse intruders during every second of their petticoated labour!

Heather rises from the basket, a triumphant and thus terrifying smile on her face.

'Not bad,' she says. 'Not bad at all.'

The sissies visibly relax and then Heather burst out laughing. 'But not good enough!'

Waving a pair of the panties before her, she dances mockingly around the two helpless, terrified she-males.

'This one is at least an inch out of alignment with the top row of frills!'

The sissies tense again and tears begin to fill poor Prissy's eyes. Chrissy, however, can only stare at his sister with a mixture of anger and utter humiliation, for it is one of his pairs of panties that she is so cruelly displaying.

'Yes, Chrissy, I'm afraid you've let the side down. And that means a rather painful lesson for both of you.'

She then produces the crop, her beauty radiant, her gorgeous eyes filled with sadistic arousal.

And even in the midst of this terrible scenario, Chrissy cannot help but admit her physical perfection and how much he desires her, his own spectacular, wickedly gorgeous sister, her splendid, voluptuous form now free of the nurse's apron. A proud, awe inspiring figure in complete control.

Beverley steps forward and grabs Prissy. She removes the rubber pinafore and then forces his arms behind his back and ties them tightly together at the wrists and elbows with rubber cording. He squeals in pain and fear and Beverley smacks his hosed thighs hard with the solid palm of a long, elegant hand.

'Be quiet, you silly little girl!'

Heather then does something unexpected: she places the crop on the floor before Prissy's ultra-high heeled feet. Then, to add to the mystery, Beverley places a long, leather backed paddle by the crop.

'Seeing this is your first mistake, and that it was really all silly Chrissy's fault, I am going to give you a choice,' she says, turning her cool, cruel eyes on her quaking she-brother. 'You can either take five hard cuts of the crop on your thighs from me, or take a paddling from Chrissy – ten whacks. If you opt for the latter, you will also have opportunity to administer ten whacks to Chrissy. It's your call.'

Prissy looks over at Chrissy, his eyes wide and calculating. He looks down at the terrible crop, already remembering the dreadful power of its kiss on his delicately hosed thighs. He then minces forward, his ankle bells tinkling prettily, and gestures with his head towards the paddle. Heather nods, a cynical smile scarring her lovely face, picks up the paddle and hands it to Chrissy.

'You will administer ten hard whacks. And when I say hard, I mean hard. If there is the slightest sign of slacking, you will both be soundly cropped.'

Beverly then forces the bound and tightly gagged Prissy to bend forward, so that his be-frilled backside is fully exposed to Chrissy's ambivalent gaze. Chrissy feels his erection strain even harder as his eyes traverse the long, near perfect lines of Prissy's nylon sheathed legs and the sensuous curves of his pert, girlish buttocks.

Chrissy steps forward, draws back his arm and then delivers a single hard whack of the paddle against Prissy's sexy, tautly pantied bottom.

The sharp, smacking sound of this first blow echoes through the work room, as does Prissy's first squeal of pain, a first that becomes a second and then a third as Chrissy continues the increasingly enthusiastic spanking, his eyes now focused, his dummy gagged breathing stronger, more confident, the blows increasingly harder, firmer, more painful. As he beats his fellow sissified prisoner, at first with caution, then with something approaching a sadistic abandon, Chrissy begins to experience a new sexual thrill, the thrill of power. Now, if only briefly, he begins to feel what Heather and Beverley must feel, what his mother must feel. A feeling that is not unknown to him, and which was so often the motivation for so many acts of bullying and vandalism. I am in control, this feeling tells him; the world is mine.

Bu then a hand has grabbed his, is pulling him back.

'I said ten, Chrissy! Not eleven!'

The crop bites into his thighs and he squeals angrily into the dummy gag. He totters backward on his heels and very nearly looses his balance.

Heather stands over him, anger in her beautiful eyes, anger and a dark sexual excitement.

'We've obviously got a long way to go with you, Chrissy.'

She then slaps him hard across the face – a stinging, disorienting blow. Suddenly, he is his old self, bitter, aggressive Christopher. He totters forward and tries to strike her. She steps backward, easily avoiding his blow and bursts out laughing. She then slips the terrible control box from her skirt pocket and presses hard on the red button.

Almost immediately a terrible burning and itching pain floods into his back passage. His anger turns to sickening fear, and then there is only terror and the dreadful pain. Writhing and squealing, he looses his balance and falls painfully to his knees, his body twitching uncontrollably. He rolls onto his side, tears pouring from his eyes, his legs kicking helplessly, his squeals now very high pitched and continual. He is lost in a world of pure, brutal pain. He has lost control of everything. His physical and mental enslavement is complete.

Heather stands over him, laughing, mocking, her beautiful body framed by a glowing halo of cruelty.

She presses the button again and, very gradually, the pain subsides.

'Get up Chrissy, and take your spanking like the big, pathetic sissy you most surely are. If you ever try to strike me again, I'll get mummy to have you castrated.'

Tears pouring from his eyes, poor Chrissy tries unsuccessfully to rise to his high heeled feet. Heather leans forward and very roughly hauls him up.

'Now bend forward and touch your toes,' she commands, unleashing a painful cut of the crop as an incentive.

He squeals, totters forward slightly and very gingerly leans forward, his mind spinning with the power of the pain unleashed by the fiendish vibrator and by the foolishness of his attack on Heather. Now he knows that any kind of resistance to this terrible petticoat regime is utterly impossible. As his rubber gloved hands struggle to touch the gleaming, pink patent leather tips of his high heeled courts shoes, tears of resignation and despair splash on the rubber matted floor before him. Even in his anger, there are the seeds of a total and permanent defeat.

Prissy administers the spanking with a controlled enthusiasm, taking care to apply ten hard whacks and no more. Compared with the vibrator and the crop, the pain is minimal, but still enough to provoke squeals, discomfort and sexy bottom wiggles. As each blow of the paddle rains down, Chrissy knows Prissy is seeking revenge, but also enjoying the same, deep rooted sadistic pleasure he felt when paddling Prissy's own pert, disturbingly attractive backside.

Eventually he is dragged upright and the two sissies are made to face each other, their hands behind their backs, their hosed legs pressed tightly together. Slowly, the teasing, very pleasurable hum of the vibrator has returned to sooth poor Chrissy's wounded backside and the sex heat now burns brightly in both sissies wide, girlish eyes.

'Now it's time to earn your keep,' Heather says, very clearly aroused. 'For the rest of the morning you will be trained in the rudiments of housework. We will begin with vacuuming and polishing.'

Beverley then strolls over to the cupboards and slides back a wooden panel to reveal two large, brand new domestic vacuum cleaners.

'Take the cleaners from the cupboard and follow us,' Heather orders.

Now only too aware of the price of disobedience, the sissies wiggle mince over to the cupboard and somewhat clumsily extract the tall, heavy vacuum cleaners. Luckily, both machines are fitted with wheels, and it is relatively simple to push them forward at an angle and follow the wicked, gorgeous girls towards the door (the red sensor now having turned green), the door that leads to the rest of the house and the next stage of their inescapable sissification.

  

  

  

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