She beckons me back onto the bed.  I kneel before her on the silken sheets.  We are so close that our hard painfully erect nipples rub together.  I squeal with a deeply girlish pleasure.  She takes my tormented sex in her hands and then leans foward and places a long soft kiss on each of my considerable breasts.  A squeal mutates into a long slow guttural moan.  She carefully unclips the steel cock rings and then very gently teases the rubber restrainer off my balls and cock.  I cry out with a mixture of powerful sexual arousal and brutal relief.  Then, my pink-dyed cock pops up before her, a startling sissified phallus - the perfect symbol of my bondage and philosopy of the Bigger Picture.

Never taking her beautiful golden-brown eyes from mine, she then begins to caress my cock.  I moan and cry, I beg her for release.  I feel her warm soft fingers run gently across the boiling achingly rigid shaft of my sex and I whisper her beautiful name helplessly.  She leans forward and we kiss, long, hard, desperately.  She then leans down between my legs and gently kisses my sex.

 Extracted from "silken Servitude", Christina Shelly, Rover Books, 2005, pp.148-175

I stared down at my freed diamond-hard sex with true astonishment, then my eyes wandered helplessly over to the wondrous form of Ms Blakemore imprisoned so erotically in the tight black silk body shaper. Her very large chocolate breasts, almost exploding out of the bra section, were rising and falling rapidly. I moaned and felt my cock press with an aching black need into the base of my stomach. her wide firm tights, sealed so erotically in sheer black silk, also tormented my wide sissy eyes.

 Then she carefully rose to her high-heeled feet and returned to the bed. Much to my disappointment, she slipped her fabulous generous form into the black robe and went over to the wardrobe, returning a few minutes later with what appeared to be a metal paint pot and a long thin artist's brush.

'I think a little bit of body decoration is in order before we go any further. '

Moaning with sissy fear and unrelenting sexual need into the panty gag, I watched with horror and excitement as Ms Blakemore knelt before me once again. She then carefully unscrewed the top of the tin and placed it by my stockinged feet. Inside the can was a thick dark pink-coloured paint. She dipped the brush into the paint and looked up at me, her beautiful dark eyes filled with erotic mischief.

'It seems a shame to leave this beautiful cock unadorned, Shelly. It also needs sissification. Now, don't move an inch.'

I squealed with shock and masochistic delight as she then proceeded to paint my swollen, long-tormented and furious sex a dainty shade of dark pink. As the soft damp brush ran across my boiling tortured skin, it was as if I were being teased by the silken eyelashes of an angel. I moaned and squealed, but I knew that to move was to invite both punishment and, possibly, a more accidental physical pain. So I remained once again stilled by the deep arousing terror.

A look of total concentration had enveloped Ms. Blakemore's face. She was very careful, and a slight girlish smile shaped her beautifully full cherry-red lips. She covered my aching sex totally. The paint was particularly thick and easily took to the hot slick surface of my agitated sex. Indeed, within a few minutes, my sex and my fat almost bursting balls were a deeply humiliating dark pink.

'The paint is quick dry and fixed with a dye agent. It won't wash off, and it will take at least six weeks even to begin to wear off.'

I looked down at my decorated sex in amazement. What greater and more appropriate symbol of my feminisation and the philosophy of the Bigger Picture was there than this sissification of my absurdly paradoxical manhood?

Extracted from "Silken Servitude", Christina Shelly, Rover Books, 2005, pp.34-35