I had summoned her to the kitchen for a serious talk. I explained to her, again, all about my efforts to get promoted, about how much I had to work, and about the simple fact that we couldn’t keep on living is such a mess.
“One of us had to cook, do the laundry…” my sermon continued, while she kept still, staring at me with a childish face.
“I already missed a day’s work, because last night…”
(What had happened "last night"? See my previous posting)
Her expression grew naughty
I tried to compose myself and keep my grave discourse in spite of the playfulness of her look.
“I want to reach an agreement, here and now… There’s no way I can do all the housework, You’ll have to do at least part of it”.
“O yes you can: on weekends”
That really got me upset. Was she kidding me? I was discussing serious issue. I lifted up my voice, and ended up threatening her. Exhausted by my own outburst, I finally let myself fall back in a chair.
She hadn’t uttered a word. She just fell on her knees, reclined her head over my lap, took my hand into hers, and slowly reached into my ear. Then she whispered. I could perceive the warmth of her breath caressing my earlobes:
“I’ll wear my leather pants, I’ll take you for a ride in my bike…”
“Non, non, no, listen…”
“… and then I’ll step on your naked crotch with my muddy boots… I’ll dominate you, I’ll make you my slave”
I couldn’t help it: I could vividly imagine each word she was murmuring. She reached my crotch with her hand. I was already aroused. She rubbed it slowly, while she kept on mumbling into my ear.
“If you clean up this weekend, I might let you lick my boots”
“You promise?” I could barely talk.
“I don’t know”
“What do you mean? Promise me that if I clean up this weekend you’ll… you’ll do what you just said!”
“You said you wanted to reach an agreement”
“Is… is that our agreement?”
She nodded, looking me straight into my eyes.
I tried to haul her over to the bedroom. I was so turned on.
“No!” she said, “Not until the weekend”
“But it’s only Wednesday”
“I know”, she answered calmly.
“You OK?”, asked me one of the guys at the office, “you look distracted”
“Everything’s OK”, I replied
I couldn’t keep my thought into what I was doing. I counted the hours, even the minutes. All I could think about was Sandra in her leather pants walking all over me with her muddy boots. Was I OK? Should I visit a shrink?
Finally, it was Friday. End of my torment, I thought. There was a party at the office. Under normal cicumstances, I would have shown up, just to get noticed, and the get back to work until late. Not this time:
“I cannot stay”, I proclaimed loudly while rushing to the elevators: “I have to help my wife with the housework”
She was not at home. I frenzied around the house trying to put some order. As we had ran out of clean dishes, she had simply bought new ones, which were now piled over the old ones in the sink. Her friends had obviously paid her a visit, as there were empty beer bottles and turned over coffee cups all over the carpet.
I could finally hear her drawing her keys into the key hole. I straightened my dick that was bursting out of my underwear.
“Is my pretty maid home already?” She hailed.
She was stunning: she had had her hair done, was wearing makeup, and was not wearing her black leather slacks yet, but looked gorgeous all the same in her closefitting jeans and high heeled boots.
“Look what I’ve got for you!”
“What’s that!”
“You know very well what it is”
“A French maid’s uniform”
“That’s right, that’s what sissy maids like you are supposed to wear”
“I’m not wearing that!”
“No, uh?”, she asked as she kept it swinging in front of me holding it from it’s peg.
I kept on looking at it. My heart gave a leap. It was beautiful. Deep inside myself I had always wondered how would it feel to be wearing women clothes and has secretly had some naive experiences in crossdressing.
I smiled at her.
“Come on, do it!, wear it! I know you want to”
“I dunno”
“And then, it’ll be just for when you’re doing housework, for when you become my personal French maid. Nobody has to know”
I didn’t answer, but as she looked fixedly at my crotch, I couldn't conceal my exitement. she smiled back.
“OK”, I I had to admit
I tried to compose myself and keep my grave discourse in spite of the playfulness of her look.
“I want to reach an agreement, here and now… There’s no way I can do all the housework, You’ll have to do at least part of it”.
“O yes you can: on weekends”
That really got me upset. Was she kidding me? I was discussing serious issue. I lifted up my voice, and ended up threatening her. Exhausted by my own outburst, I finally let myself fall back in a chair.
She hadn’t uttered a word. She just fell on her knees, reclined her head over my lap, took my hand into hers, and slowly reached into my ear. Then she whispered. I could perceive the warmth of her breath caressing my earlobes:
“I’ll wear my leather pants, I’ll take you for a ride in my bike…”
“Non, non, no, listen…”
“… and then I’ll step on your naked crotch with my muddy boots… I’ll dominate you, I’ll make you my slave”
I couldn’t help it: I could vividly imagine each word she was murmuring. She reached my crotch with her hand. I was already aroused. She rubbed it slowly, while she kept on mumbling into my ear.
“If you clean up this weekend, I might let you lick my boots”
“You promise?” I could barely talk.
“I don’t know”
“What do you mean? Promise me that if I clean up this weekend you’ll… you’ll do what you just said!”
“You said you wanted to reach an agreement”
“Is… is that our agreement?”
She nodded, looking me straight into my eyes.
I tried to haul her over to the bedroom. I was so turned on.
“No!” she said, “Not until the weekend”
“But it’s only Wednesday”
“I know”, she answered calmly.
“You OK?”, asked me one of the guys at the office, “you look distracted”
“Everything’s OK”, I replied
I couldn’t keep my thought into what I was doing. I counted the hours, even the minutes. All I could think about was Sandra in her leather pants walking all over me with her muddy boots. Was I OK? Should I visit a shrink?
Finally, it was Friday. End of my torment, I thought. There was a party at the office. Under normal cicumstances, I would have shown up, just to get noticed, and the get back to work until late. Not this time:
“I cannot stay”, I proclaimed loudly while rushing to the elevators: “I have to help my wife with the housework”
She was not at home. I frenzied around the house trying to put some order. As we had ran out of clean dishes, she had simply bought new ones, which were now piled over the old ones in the sink. Her friends had obviously paid her a visit, as there were empty beer bottles and turned over coffee cups all over the carpet.
I could finally hear her drawing her keys into the key hole. I straightened my dick that was bursting out of my underwear.
“Is my pretty maid home already?” She hailed.
She was stunning: she had had her hair done, was wearing makeup, and was not wearing her black leather slacks yet, but looked gorgeous all the same in her closefitting jeans and high heeled boots.
“Look what I’ve got for you!”
“What’s that!”
“You know very well what it is”
“A French maid’s uniform”
“That’s right, that’s what sissy maids like you are supposed to wear”
“I’m not wearing that!”
“No, uh?”, she asked as she kept it swinging in front of me holding it from it’s peg.
I kept on looking at it. My heart gave a leap. It was beautiful. Deep inside myself I had always wondered how would it feel to be wearing women clothes and has secretly had some naive experiences in crossdressing.
I smiled at her.
“Come on, do it!, wear it! I know you want to”
“I dunno”
“And then, it’ll be just for when you’re doing housework, for when you become my personal French maid. Nobody has to know”
I didn’t answer, but as she looked fixedly at my crotch, I couldn't conceal my exitement. she smiled back.
“OK”, I I had to admit
I felt my heart striking violently against my ribcage with each pulsation, as she helped me into the outfit. When we're done I take a look at myself in the mirror. I am surprised, and not at all displeased at all with the result. My body is slender enough to look good in a dress.
My very first house maid uniform, from a not very pretty square pattern cloth
My current ones are more stylish, most of them in pink, with frills and laces.
For a time, I wore those ugly sneakers, and I didn't even shave my legs, but I somehow found myself quite feminine-looking, and I enjoyed that more that I would ever had imagined.
The "piéce de resistance" was the apron. Even today, Sandra enjoys the moment when she ties my apron around me, as a symbol of her command.
I didn't realize I was entering a new life, nor did I know then to what extent we would arrive. How could I?
“You would be a beautiful woman”, Sandra said laughing “You only need some makeup”
“And a wig”
“Your hair will grow long enough”
“I don’t think I can have long hair in the office” I said, realizing that this was not going to be the only time we did this.
“We’ll see”, she said. She was already applying the makeup.
“Look!” she finally said.
I was gorgeous! I couldn’t believe how beautiful I looked. I could say that I almost fell in love with my own image as a "woman".
“Go to work now! Go slave!” she said, slapping my bottom.
A submissive maid should scale down her makeup to a bare minimum
Unless, of course, she is otherwise instructed by her mistress (or master). Even with the scant makeup I was wearing, I found myself quite feminine, and surpinsingly attractive.
House chores turned out to be a wonderful, exhilarating experience when they are related to a dominion-submission role-playing game. It was such a delight to feel like a humble servant, and to be under the orders of my mistress. I enjoyed our role-playing the remaining of the evening. I could finally deal with all that pile of dishes. Then I prepared something to eat, while Sandra was watching TV.
As I served her, I lighted some candles, waited on her, poured her some wine, and I ate later, standing alone in the kitchen.
I finally went nervously to our bedroom. She was already in bed, with the lights off.
“OK, what about the promise?
“What promise?”
“You said that if I cleaned up you would… remember? Remember our agreement?”
“But you’re not done yet, Deborah”
“Deborah?”
“Deborah, that’ll be your name whenever you become my own personal housekeeper”
"But I don't like that name!"
As I served her, I lighted some candles, waited on her, poured her some wine, and I ate later, standing alone in the kitchen.
I finally went nervously to our bedroom. She was already in bed, with the lights off.
“OK, what about the promise?
“What promise?”
“You said that if I cleaned up you would… remember? Remember our agreement?”
“But you’re not done yet, Deborah”
“Deborah?”
“Deborah, that’ll be your name whenever you become my own personal housekeeper”
"But I don't like that name!"
"You can't choose your name. Your parents, the priest, whoever choses your name. Now I, your owner, am naming you Deborah. Debbie, the maid"
It was as if it really was the first time I ever heard my own name in my life. After all the deprivement I had felt all those three days, I now underwent a completely different emotion: I felt I had been batized with my real name. Had I lived all my life with a false name, a false identity? Was I was finally discovering who I really was? Was I really Debbie, Sandra's maid? And then, how wonderful it sounded when she pronounced it. I was crying.
“OK, OK, It’s not that bad, Debbie, maybe we’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired. Now go to sleep, there’s a mattress for you down in the kitchen. And then, you have to get up early tomorrow: you still have to do all the laundry. I want my undies washed by hand”
“OK, OK, It’s not that bad, Debbie, maybe we’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired. Now go to sleep, there’s a mattress for you down in the kitchen. And then, you have to get up early tomorrow: you still have to do all the laundry. I want my undies washed by hand”
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