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A Big Day (Part 2) free porn video
A Big Day. (Part 2)
Miss Victoria's vicious spanking had only been the start of his
tribulations. By the time she had finished Miles was in floods of tears
and mucus was running unpleasantly from his nose. He felt wretched;
totally defeated and completely emasculated. Mistress Anna and Miss
Francesca had also arrived to investigate the noise and Miss Victoria
had related what had happened in the garden. Of course, neither her
sister or mother had questioned her version of events, they never did
and Miles wasn't expecting them to. Instead, Mistress Anna had taken
charge. She'd seized his arm and marched him through the main house and
into the annexe at the back of the building that contained his bedroom,
a separate bathroom dressing room and sitting room; the places where he
spent much of the time. She had warned him to stop snivelling and begun
stripping him of his soiled clothes while Miss Francesca, who had
followed, had started drawing his bath. Then she's made him stand in the
corner of the room, thumb in his mouth and facing the wall until Miss
Francesca was ready for him.
Miss Victoria's sister was perhaps the same age as Miles and the beauty
of the family. She had the same flaming hair and milky complexion as her
sibling but that was where any similarity ended as the two were like ice
and fire. Where Miss Victoria was intense and volatile, Miss Francesca
was cool and calm. She was almost like a scientist, detached and neutral
in her dealings with Miles, treating him like a lab animal, the subject
of an experiment. Facially, she had less freckles than Miss Victoria and
a more gracile bone structure which blessed her with cheekbones that
gave her face a pleasing, feminine heart-shape, unlike her sister's more
rounded profile. Her frame too was taller, less solid than Miss
Victoria's and she moved with an economical natural grace that made her
seem to glide across the floor.
However, he knew, that her slender frame was formed of steel and she
more than able to exact complete obedience from him. Recalcitrance was
an unwise choice, especially as she was already annoyed with him on Miss
Victoria's behalf. So, when she gestured abruptly with a snap of her
hand and pointed at the bath he had meekly obeyed, stepping into the
steaming tub.
The bath time routine hardly ever varied, so Miles had stood in the
foamy water and raised his arms above his head as Miss Francesca buckled
them into the cuffs that dangled from two thin chains from the ceiling.
As he stood feeling increasingly vulnerable, as he always did at this
point, she sorted through a small wicker box of bath salts and lotions
and extracted a black lace-edged eye mask which she quickly looped over
his head plunging him into darkness. And so had begun the daily bath
time ritual of removing his penis from its prison for the night. His
captors obviously understood the central importance of the organ to the
male psyche and had gone to great lengths to use this by effectively
removing Miles' from his control and even his sight. During the day it
was forced tightly back between his legs concealed by a false vagina; a
high quality latex facsimile of a real female pudendum which was glued
into place each morning. It was hairless, smooth and incredibly
detailed, with little pink inner lips and a clitoral hood just poking
out from between two puffy, slightly reddish brown outer labia. It's
edges appeared to be coloured to match his own skin for, when it was
glued on each morning the seam was difficult to see. He stood there as
Miss Francesca had sponged the edges with cotton wool soaked in the
removal solution which, after a brief wait, dissolved the glue and
loosened the vagina. Once this was done, he breathed a silent sigh of
relief as his penis was released from its position where the latex had
held it. However, for all it psychological power, the vagina was in some
ways merely the cosmetic out layer of his penis' real prison for
underneath as its shaft was forced into a snug hard plastic sheath which
encased its entire length, save for a small cut away at the end to allow
urination. As if this was not bad enough, the inside of the tube was not
smooth but lined with what felt like numerous tiny unyielding
protrusions which made any sort of erection which the tightness of the
shaft didn't stop, an uncomfortable, if not painful experience. The
whole arrangement was distressing at a deep level. As well as the
constant physical discomfort it created, it attacked the fundamental
core of his male identity, effectively neutering him and laying the
foundations on which all the other, multitudinous layers of feminizing
debasement could be heaped.
It worried him too that they prevented him from seeing while they washed
or changed him so that now he couldn't even remember the last time he'd
seen his own penis. At best, when he was able to look down, he saw the
flat front of whatever girlish underwear they'd put him in for the day
or the naked latex mound of 'his' pundendum and the start of the cleft
between the two subsidiary swellings of the vagina's smooth outer lips.
It worried him that they did not want him to see, a worry made worse by
his testicles. He didn't know what was wrong with them, what they had
done, but they just didn't feel right. At first he had been consumed
with worry; he could remember waking up after they worked on his voice
and face with a feeling the soreness in is crotch. It was like a does of
ice water running through his veins every time he thought of it lying
restrained and helpless in the dark in his bed. They hadn't told him
anything, never responded to his desperate questions other than to
punish him for speaking without being spoken to and it only got worse
when he was healed and more mobile as he just wasn't able to feel the
weight of them there in his scrotum in the brief periods when he was
being washed and changed. He was certain they'd castrated him until one
day, the doctor came to inspect. He'd been laid on his bed blindfolded
and gagged as the doctor, an older male from the sound of his voice, had
probed and pinched him, especially around his scrotum. The pain he'd
felt at the very base of his abdomen and the way it had almost glowed
and grown until it suffused everywhere below his navel had perversely
reassured him; they were still there though sealed into his body,
probably surgically.
Miles had winced and whimpered slightly as Miss Francesca had unfastened
the tube from his penis and pulled it off, none-to-gently, but it was
still a moment he savoured every day; a few precious minutes of freedom
from discomfort.
His enjoyment was short-lived as Miss Francesca commenced to wash him
thoroughly as he stood in the bath. Normally, she lowered him to sit in
the water part way through this exercise, but on this occasion he
remained standing as her sponge rubbed every part of his body
vigorously. She even pulled apart his buttocks, grinding the rough, soap
covered sponge up and down the groove. Predictably, his penis responded
to the attention, despite its cursory, even aggressive nature. Given his
constant denial such a response at bath time was not an unusual event,
though it was one that still shamed him every time. In fact it was so
routine that Miss Francesca dealt with it without breaking her stride,
delivering two rapid stinging slaps to the errant member with something;
the plastic ruler that was kept in the bathroom for just such occasions
he guessed. Miles had gasped at the sudden pain and the burning
sensation that had spread along his shaft as it rapidly shrunk,
thoroughly chastened.
Miss Francesca had finished his ablutions rapidly and released his
hands, but left the eye mask in place and helped him from the bath
before rapidly rubbing him all over with a towel. His body had been
smarting from the vigour of Miss Francesca's attentions as she quickly
smeared lotion over him, explaining that she wasn't going to moisturise
him fully as he'd been too naughty and needed to be in bed and that
she'd be doing it properly in the morning. Miles wondered at that. He
couldn't remember ever being moisturised in the morning, even after
being put to bed early. It heightened his anxiety as changes to his
daily routine never boded well.
His heart sank as he had felt Miss Francesca tap his leg. He knew his
moments of freedom were over, but obediently lifted first one leg and
then the other as she pulled something up to hips. He knew it was
another fake vagina, the one he wore at night, identical to the one she
had removed except that it required no glue but was held in place by set
of minimal straps that gave it the appearance of a very brief G string.
Unceremonially, she had grasped his shaft with well-practiced hands,
fitted it into a sheath that formed part of the arrangement and pulled
it up into place around his waist so that his penis was, once more, held
tightly in place. He felt his entombed testicles throb in sympathy at
the treatment and blinked at the sudden light as Miss Francesca removed
the eye mask. She had given him little time for his eyes to adjust
before beginning to dress him, pulling a pair of panties up his legs to
cover the vagina. He glanced down as she fussed over them, pulling the
soft, white, flower-printed fabric straight over his smooth mound and
straightening the pink lace edging. Then, with a curt order to raise his
arms, she pulled his nightdress down over his head; an ankle length gown
of white cotton, with long sleeves gathered at the wrists and tiny pearl
buttons up the front of the bodice. Pink ribbons and a delicate lace
trim ran around the hem, wrists and high collar of the garment, tickling
his neck constantly and uncomfortably. He was glad she didn't dwell on
his appearance in anything other than a perfunctory way though, standing
there dressed like an eight year old in the cute, girly nightdress, in
front of a young attractive woman his own age, made his face burn
afresh. For some reason the clothing had made him feel more vulnerable
than when he'd been naked a few moments before.
Miss Francesca then pushed him to the basin, and retrieved a bottle and
spoon from the cabinet on the wall above it and Miles braced himself.
Every night they made him take two spoonfuls of cod liver oil and every
morning two more. It tasted revolting, but that wasn't the only reason
for Miles' ambivalence. He was convinced that the noxious golden liquid
that filled the spoon was more than just cod liver oil and contained
other drugs designed to aid his captors' work. For a start there was his
constant weakness and lack of energy for one thing which he didn't think
could be explained entirely by his tightly controlled diet. Then were
the other changes he'd noticed, to his skin, his chest and his rear.
Changes he couldn't be sure about with all the others that had been
inflicted on him, changes that turned his legs to jelly and that his
mind shied away from when he tried to consider them and there
implications. He hadn't been given much chance to ponder further as Miss
Francesca had thrust a Little Mermaid toothbrush into his hand and
ordered him to clean his teeth like a good girl, admonishing him to make
sure he used the 2 minute timer.
Finally bath time was over and she led him by the hand into the bedroom
where she handed him a hair brush and sat him in front of the mirror of
his elaborate, carved dressing table. He knew what was required; one
hundred strokes of the brush, it was the same every night and morning.
His hair was shoulder-length now, falling like blonde-streaked, waves of
gently curling honey. Of course, it hadn't been like this when he'd
arrived but his captors had let it grow, shaping it to a style they
found suitable. It was, of course, not a a style Miles found suitable,
and his required, almost obsessive, care of it simply increased the
depths of his humiliation. But that wasn't all that had changed of the
view in the mirror. Indeed it wasn't even the worse thing. Hair could be
cut and shaped as desired and its appearance could be considered
transitory and temporary. More fundamental were the changes to his face.
While it had never been masculine in the classic chiseled square-jawed
way, it had at least been recognizably male. Not so now. Despite his
months of acquaintance, a stranger still stared back at him. Actually,
that was wrong. It wouldn't have been so bad if that had been the case,
but the blue eyes were still same and he could tell the reflection was
his. It just seemed that much of the rest had changed. It's profile was
softened considerably, his formerly well-defined chin had shrunken being
replaced by an almost elfin point, while his lips were fuller with a
prominent cupid's bow that reminded him of Jilly's stylised painted
lips. Also, his nose too had narrowed, the strong nostrils he had known
being replaced by a dainty pink nub. Something was different about his
forehead too; it was smoother, the eyebrows higher, thinner and more
arched. It was the face of a little girl, an impression only heightened
by the lace and ribbon of his nightdress and he hated it.
As he brushed, counting the strokes, his eyes fixed forward, trying to
stare through his reflection without seeing it, he could hear Miss
Francesca and Miss Anna through the open door talking in low tones,
debating some question or another. At first he zoned them out, hearing
without hearing, but slowly became aware of a growing sense of unease
brought about by the odd word or phrase he caught; "they've confirmed",
"tomorrow" "24 hours early" "travelling up". None of it made sense to
him, but the tone suggested something untoward was happening and that
did nothing for his jittery nerves. Eventually the two women obviously
reached an agreement, the door was pushed open and Mistress Anna
appeared.
She was a buxom but shapely woman in her forties with auburn hair cut to
fall in curves around the smooth oval of her face. Miles could see the
resemblance to both her daughters; she had the same facial structure as
Miss Francesca and the same lips and eyes as Miss Victoria. She was the
matriarch of the group exerting a calm, measured authority over her two
daughters. Miles imagined she was probably the brains of the outfit too,
the instigator of these hellish games. If games they were. That was
another worm that continuously ate at Miles guts. Why were these women
doing this? He didn't know them and they didn't know him. As far as he
knew he'd never done anything to anyone that could warrant this
treatment. Did they do it just for kicks? Did they hate the male of the
species that much maybe and he was simply an unlucky cipher for the all
the other men in the world? He didn't know and the not knowing made him
even more powerless, becoming yet one more aspect of his torture.
Satisfied with his efforts on his hair, Miss Anna had ushered him into
bed, a pink-painted wooden affair with an elaborate canopy festooned in
pink and white, lacey chintz. He had lain there unresisting as she'd
cuffed his ankle to the bed and stretched tight, pink latex mittens over
his balled fists. This was the routine everynight; the removal of his
use of his hands and feet. It kept him where they put him, a sort of
proxy for their will, as if he could forget it. He wondered where they
thought he would go anyway; the door was always locked and all the
windows in the 'nursery annexe', as they called it, were barred. It was
like a small fortress encased in layers of security and even, he knew,
heavily soundproofed, so even if he yelled at the top of his voice,
little sound would escape. Even then, the house didn't seem to have any
neighbours; it was in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by
woodland and orchards which, it had been explained to him in order to
explain how difficult escape would be, Mistress Anna owned. When he's
been outside he'd not even been able to hear any traffic noise, so he
knew it wasn't near a significant road. His isolation felt crushing and
had long since leached any hope of surprise discovery and rescue from
his soul. So he submitted to the restraints. There was little else he
could do.
Miles had expected that to be it, for Mistress Anna to bend and kiss him
on the forehead as she did every night, muttering some inanity about how
pretty he was becoming. But she didn't. Rather she took one of his
wrists and fastened it into a pink cuff attached to the top of the bed.
He must have looked surprised and concerned for Mistress Anna had
chuckled as she'd fastened his other wrist and asked him in saccharine
tones if her little girl thought there'd be no consequences for her
misbehaviour that afternoon. He'd quickly shaken his head, momentarily
scared that she thought he was being recalcitrant. But she appeared
mollified. Strangely, he felt ashamed that he had let her down in some
way, despite the fact that he had done nothing wrong. He hadn't been
secured this much in bed since the early days when he was still learning
obedience and, for some reason, it made him feel like they'd taken some
privilege away from him rather than something that should have been his
by right.
As Mistress Anna finished with his wrists, Miss Francesca entered the
room, holding up two plain, black cardboard boxes, one in each hand.
Miles could feel his heart beginning to hammer in his chest as his
apprehension soared. It was odd how the bizarre could become routine,
how he could construct the rudiments of a comfort zone from the
humiliation of the frocks, the ribbons, the playing with dolls, the
ballet practice and the endless trivia of the enforced life of a little
girl. He supposed his mind needed it to cling to sanity and so routine
became a haven. But step outside that routine and things became
frightening again. Unpredictable.
Miss Francesca had been at the basin in the corner of the room, water
running, talking to her mother about temperature and being told not to
fuss too much, that warm was perfect. He hadn't known what they were
talking about and couldn't see as Mistress Anna, sitting on the bed
beside him, blocked his view. And then Miss Francesca had moved into
view and handed what looked like the business end of a penis in a nest
of pink leather straps to Mistress Anna. As the older woman turned
towards him, he realised the object was gag as she held it towards his
face and commanded him to 'open wide.' Again, he hadn't been gagged like
this since his early days in the house and even then, never with
something that looked so frighteningly real. The glimpse he caught of it
as it came towards him showed it to be flesh coloured, but not the one-
shade-fits-all of the sex toys he had seen in the past. Instead this one
was nuanced, much like the fake vagina he wore. It was shaded a paler
colour with hints of brown on the short length of shaft, with a darker,
almost purple pink on the domed head. He had felt tears springing into
his eyes and had shook his head slightly, his expression pleading, but
Mistress Anna's gaze had been implacable and he knew that if he pushed
his resistance any further things would become far worse for him. So he
opened his mouth and the gag slipped into the 'O' formed by his
stretched lips. Mistress Anna's voice had been mock-soothing as she'd
pulled the gag;s three straps around his cheeks and across the top of
his head to buckle them at the back, forcing the phallic protrusion deep
into his mouth. The thing had looked bad enough, but it had felt real!
Miss Francesca must have filled it with warm water so it felt warm while
its texture was frighteningly authentic; like velvet stretched over
steel. He could feel it now, it's odious weight nestling against his
tongue, it's tip pushed into the back of his mouth. His lips were
stretched tightly around it and his jaw was already beginning to ache.
Mistress Anna was sitting over him, her head cocked to one side
examining her handiwork when Mistress Anna had appeared again and Miles'
eyes had opened as wide as they would go in panic and he felt a jolt of
adrenaline shoot through him. Involuntarily he jerked his hands in the
cuffs, pulling the chains that attached them to the bed taut, but there
was no give in them. Miss Francesca had smiled thinly at him, commented
that it looked like Poppy knew what was coming, and she handed her
mother the contents of second box she had brought in. Miles couldn't
take his panicked eyes from it; an enormous fleshy dildo, the near twin
of the intruder in his mouth, except this monstrosity was full length
and, from the way it flexed and wobbled obscenely, as Mistress Anna held
it, just as realistically modeled. She held it in front of his face
cooing about how like the real thing it was in an all-girls-together
tone, her red nailed fingers running up and down its squat menace. The
thing must have been seven or eight inches long and it seemed every
contour, every vein had been lovingly crafted. He could even see a small
mole on the side of its shaft!
Miles, had pleaded, with his eyes, his shaking head and the high pitched
muffled whining that was all that could escape the phallus filling his
mouth. But it hadn't mattered. The two women had simply ignored him and
rolled him over on the bed despite his struggles, his arms twisting
above him as the two wrist chains crossed. His mind raced frantically,
panic and fear eroding its coherence. He had been plugged quite a few
times by his captors, either as a punishment or to help him walk in a
suitably girlish fashion, but never with something like this. It was
designed to crush him, not only physically in its sheer size, which was
seemed on an entirely different scale to the plugs that had been used
before, but also mentally through its horrible realism. It constituted
an all-out yet insidious assault on the shreds of what was left of his
pride and identity.
None of that had mattered though, he was chained, weak and utterly
helpless in the hands of these women. He had felt the skirts of his
nightdress pulled up over his back and then pillows being pushed under
his stomach raising his rump into the air. Frantically, he had tried to
look over his shoulder, trying to see as Mistress Anna had pulled down
his flowery panties and hooked aside the back strand of the fake vagina.
Then she'd pushed her weight down on his buttocks, stopping his wriggles
and pinning him to the bed as he sensed Miss Francesca moving in from
the other side. He'd jumped and squeaked as something cold and slimy had
hit his anus and Mistress Anna had warned him sternly to stay still as
she would not happy if he messed up his nice Hello Kitty duvet cover
with nasty old lubricant. Then, without warning, a hand, he couldn't
tell whose, was smearing the stuff around liberally, one finger even
suddenly, pushing its way past his clenched ring, forcing it open,
coating it and filling the cavity behind with the gelid lubricant.
Miles' struggles ceased and his back arched suddenly at the
uncomfortable sensation as the finger explored deeply. He was like a
fish on hook, his being focussed on the point of invasion, his back
arching and protests whining through his nose. Then, just as suddenly
the finger had been withdrawn, but Miles had little time to recover
because immediately it was replaced by another presence; the blunt,
forceful head of the dildo. Miles, tried clenching his buttocks
together, but they had been spread by forceful hands as the pressure on
the intruder increased. Slowly he felt his rosebud being forced apart,
its resistance lessened by the absence of friction and he felt the head
of the thing slowly slip inside. Then his protests had become gutteral,
a continuos animal grunt of pain and violation as the width of the shaft
had begun its progess into him. It had been like being split in two as
he seemed to feel every vein and ridge sliding past his ring. It was not
lost on him that the invading dildo was warm which, combined with its
texture made it feel incredibly real. He ground his face into the bed,
hot tears spilling from his eyes in pain and degradtation when, suddenly
it was inside, his sphincter had popped closed, clenching around a
constriction at the base of phallus, leaving just its base outside his
body. Miles, panted, exhausted, feeling enormously full and
uncomfortable as his panties had been pulled tightly into place and his
nightdress pulled down.
Then he had been turned over again, his bedding rearranged and his duvet
pulled over him as Mistress Anna bent to kiss him on the forehead. She
had paused only to look into his eyes and telling him to settle down as
little girls needed their beauty sleep and he had a big day tomorrow and
needed to be rested. He hadn't really registered what she had said,
distracted as he was by the feeling and thought of the huge faux phallus
resting inside him.
So now he lay there as the liquid gold light of late afternoon began to
fade into the redder, darker copper of twilight, the skin of his face
tight with dried tears. He was uncomfortable, his buttocks still
smarting from the earlier attentions of Miss Victoria, his jaw aching
from gag that stretched his mouth wide, his imprisoned testicles
throbbing and his hands sweating and cramped in the tight mittens. Even
the neck of his nightdress felt restrictive, its lace irritating the
skin of his neck and under his chin. And of course there was the monster
inside him, filling him and making his anus feel perpetually stretched
and open, He tried to remain still so he wouldn't feel it as much but
eventually the cumulative effect of the all the other discomforts became
too great and he had to move to a more comfortable position which made
the invader shift obscenely inside him.
Trying to distract himself from his physical discomfort and the mental
anguish of what his captors had done to him, he looked around the
bedroom. It would have made any girl envious, from its flowery wallpaper
and pink carpet to the fairy lights draped around the bed canopy and the
dressing table mirror. One end of the room was dominated by the full
length mirrored doors of the built in wardrobe which spanned its width.
It was, he knew stuffed with dresses, skirts, panties, cute socks,
tights, shoes, ballet outfits and princess costumes, an endless
profusion of lace, satin, floral patterns and chiffon all in juvenile
styles and patterns. At first he had wondered where the three women had
bought such clothing in a size to fit him but it had become clear they
made it themselves, buying items in more usual sizes and using them as
models for sized-up versions. More than once he had been required to
model such half-made adaptations.
He had thought sleeping would be impossible given his current discomfort
but, now that the stress of his plugging had subsided, he was feeling
decidedly drowsy. His mind wandered to the medicine, fuzzily wondering
if there'd been something in it, something to make him sleep. That gave
him a jolt that momentarily chased sleep away. She'd said something else
too, hadn't she? Something about tomorrow being a big day? What did that
mean? Why was it going to be a big day? It was a question he could not
answer and that his mind could not wrestle with as the dark, fuzzy
tentacles of sleep fastened their grip on him and dragged him down.
End of part 2
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