Date: Fri, 27 Mar 2009 19:00:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Maid Rebekka
Subject: The Debutante Maid
By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only
Chapter 1 -- Introduction
It was a summer sunny day as he walked up the front walkway to the house
before him, pulling a rolling suitcase behind him. It was a bit warm out
for a turtleneck, but given his current situation, there really wasn't too
much choice. His heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest and his
mouth was getting drier by the second. He had never done anything like this
before. Well, he had come this far. No turning back now, he told himself,
swallowing hard. At least see what happened. For the sake of building
character. Yes, that's it, life experience, he told himself. He swallowed
hard as he walked up to the door. Suddenly, he was struck with an image--it
was his former girlfriend, the one he had broken up with so casually. She
was looking down, watching now with fascination, morbid curiosity, a
slightly victorious grin crossing her face. He had acted as if there were
plenty more fish in the sea, as if he were God's gift to women, making it
all the more hilarious to her that he should end up here.
He forced the image out of his mind as he reached up to touch the doorbell
now in front of him. His heart rose to a crescendo as time seemed to slow
down. He stood there. Three minutes passed, at least. Maybe it wasn't
happening, maybe it had been called off, maybe--His heart leapt again as he
suddenly heard steps making their way to the door. The handle turned,
slowly, loudly, until the seal finally broke and the door swung open.
"Yes?" said the man on the other side.
The visitor lowered his eyes to the man's chest and managed to utter the
phrase he was instructed.
"Good afternoon Sir. I'm here to clean the house?"
A grin crossed the man's face as he opened the door and stood aside.
"Come in," he said, registering the phrase, a mere formality and one he had
already expected to hear. Taking one last swallow, the guest entered,
walking into the foyer as his host closed the door, shutting out the
outside world with a soft but final sound of wood and rubber.
"Put your bag down and stand there," he ordered, forgoing the pleasantries
in a way that set the tone immediately. The guest stood on the spot as
ordered.
"Well...?
The guest stood there, hesitating with uncertainty.
"Off with it."
The guest took a gulp before his final dive in, and reached for the hem of
his shirt, which--
"Uh, excuse me..." said the host expectantly.
The guest stared with disbelief .
"Do you have something to say?"
A wave of shame washed over him. He was still in male clothes after all. He
was still a man, an equal, at least up to this point, wasn't he?
"Sir...he mumbled defeatedly, looking down again, "Yes Sir."
Recognizing the profound and wonderful difficulty this probably took to
say, the master let the mumble slide and smirked again. The sissy put his
hands back down. He grabbed the shirt and raised it above his head and
off. Then the pants, then the shoes, (he had been told not to wear socks)
as he stripped down for the first time for another man. Finally he stood
there before the master in a full set of women's lingerie contrasting with
his white skin. Black satin panties. Black push-up bra. Long black nylons
attached to a black satin garter belt, with a little pink rose on the
front. And a black choker around his neck which his turtleneck once
covered. Master was now smiling, pleased with what he saw.
"Very nice."
The sissy stood there, completely on display, knees trembling form the
unfamiliarity of it all.
"You are a real sissy aren't you."
"Sir," he nearly whispered, "yes Sir."
"Nice bra. Where'd you get it?
"Sir, it was my ex-girlfriend's, Sir."
There was a silence as the master smiled, bemused.
"You stole it from her?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"Where'd you get the garter belt?"
"Sir, JCPenney's, Sir."
"You went in there and bought it yourself?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"Pretending it was for your girlfriend."
"Sir, yes Sir."
"But it wasn't for your girlfriend was it?"
"Sir, no Sir."
Another pause.
"Are you glad you're here sissy?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Are you nervous?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"But you're ready to be my maid."
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Say it," he said, now warmed up. "All of it."
The sissy, while reeling from the humiliation, aware of the chill of the
air conditioning against his skin, was nevertheless falling into the rhythm
of the questioning. He spoke up a bit, his voice echoing in the foyer.
"Sir, I'm ready to be your maid sir"
"Say it again."
"Sir, I'm ready to be your maid sir"
"Ask me for it."--A pause.
"Sir, may I please be your maid, Sir?"
"What's that?"--He swallowed again.
"Sir, may I please be your maid, Sir?"
There was a brief silence as the master smiled, satisfied.
"Sissy, I want you to go upstairs. Up there you'll find your room, on the
right. Take your bag, and leave your clothes here. Go put on what's on the
hanger, the accessories on the night table, everything you see out."
He paused, waiting.
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Then put on your makeup and wig. You will do a good job on your makeup
won't you?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Go ahead sissy," he ordered, with an air of doing him a favor.
"Sir, yes Sir," replied the sissy, as he turned and marched up the
staircase in his black lingerie.
At the top, he stopped in front of the first door. Turning the knob and
pushing, he saw what he both dreaded and expected inside the plain guest
bedroom: a classic, black French maid's dress displayed on a hanger, its
lines forming the shape of a demure but shapely woman even as it hung there
empty. While the uniform was classic, it was far from ordinary, made with a
customized quality and exaggerated femininity rarely seen outside the
movies, or at least movie parodies. Short flary skirt, dramatic puffed
sleeves, and white lace trimming every conceivable edge. He went and took
it off the hanger. Unzipping it, he put it on the floor and stepped in,
pulling it up and zipping it. It fit snugly, and intentionally so. The
short skirt flared out in all directions, the square collar was edged in
flounces of lace. He couldn't help but turn a bit and watch the skirt
billow. Turning to the dresser, he saw a pile of lace and ornaments, and a
strange black
item. He realized what it was and the dress was off again as he poured
himself into a tight, black waist cincher, which when finally on compressed
his waist nearly 4 inches and forced him to take short, quick breaths. Once
the dress was back on, it was accessory time. In what would have made a
great movie montage sequence, he put one thing on after another in a flurry
of white lace and ribbons. When this was completed, he went to the vanity
and unzipped his bag. Two more items he found beside the dresser, and...
25 minutes later, a sissy emerged from the room. Taking small uncertain
steps in her 5 inch black patent heels with straps encircling each ankle,
she carefully stepped out to start her slow descent down the curving
staircase. This was it, her coming out party, a sort of perverse debutante
ball, one with neither the high society dignity or the inevitable
rich-girl-marries-and-never-has-to-work-again happy ending. The master,
hearing the stairs creak, came out to observe the spectacle unfold. Now she
was descending, with smoky, heavily made up eyes, lashes lacquered in coat
after coat of mascara, thick powder giving the illusion of a smooth,
porcelain like complexion, and lips drawn and painted into a scarlet
bow. Gold clip hoop earrings dangled against her rose tinged cheeks with
each step. Down below, her dress was now accentuated with the lacy, frilly
white satin apron tied into a big bow at the rear and complemented by a
pair of three-inch wide lace
cuffs on each wrist. Her skirt now stood out nearly horizontally below her
waist, buoyed by yards of short ruffled petticoats. Her chin was tickled
slightly by a white lace choker collar with a black bow. A delicate lace
headband fanned out ridiculously, perched almost proudly atop her wig. A
lacey white leg garter with a small black bow constantly revealed itself on
her left leg as her skirt bounced exuberantly with each step. Finally,
after what seemed an eternity, she reached the bottom.
"Come here," ordered the master, pointing.
The sissy spoke even more softly now, simply unable to comprehend how this
all had happened.
"Sir, yes Sir."
She clacked over the hard floor in her heels to the spot in front of her
master. If there was ever any doubt who was in charge before, a simple
snapshot of the moment would have made it clear even to a caveman what the
dynamic was now.
She stood in front of the master for a full minute as the master examined
her. Finally he spoke.
"Tell me sissy, do you like this outfit?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Tell me."
"Sir, I like my outfit Sir."
"Then thank me for allowing you to pay for it."
"Sir, thank you for allowing me to pay for the outfit, Sir."
"Tell me how much you like wearing this."--"Sir, I like wearing this
more than anything else I've ever worn Sir."
"I want you to walk over to the mirror. Tell me what you see." He pointed
to a mirror on the wall. The sissy clacked over and stood in front of it,
gazing at her image. If there was a trace of maleness left, it was not
evident in his reflection.
"I see, an highly effeminate, pansy French maid Sir"
"Excuse me?"
She paused for a moment, then remembered. "Sir, I see, an highly effeminate
pansy French maid Sir."
"Does she appear to be obedient and submissive?--"Sir, yes
Sir."--"Say the whole thing."--"Sir, she appears to be an
effeminate, highly obedient and submissive pansy French maid
Sir."--"Turn around. Twirl. Keep looking at yourself."--"Sir, yes
Sir," she said, twirling around, then whipping her head around to see
herself again, now sinking down into the depths of her femininity.
"Again."
She sunk lower.
"Let your wrists hang limp. Again."
Lower.
"Now. Curtsey".--She hit rock bottom.
Sliding one foot behind the other, she grasped the edges of her skirt
between her thumb and forefinger. She spread them apart and bent down,
bowing in the mirror. Then came up.
"Come here."
She clacked over in her pointed heels once again and stopped before him.
"Sissy, are you ready to take on your designated role now?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"To accept your destiny and give up your masculinity completely?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"To do anything and everything I say no matter how trivial or degrading, or
risk being put out of the house exactly as you are now?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Are you ready for your instructions?"
She stood there, swaying in her heels, swimming helplessly in her satin and
lace uniform. Their roles were as black and white as the confection she now
paraded in before him.
"Sir," she replied, "yes Sir."
Chapter 2
The Master was speaking. The sissy stood before him in the foyer in full
French maid's regalia, keeping his back straight, attempting not to sway to
much in his high heels. His palms were sweating and there seemed to be a
nearly deafening silent buzzing sensation in his ears. From somewhere in
the distance, she almost felt he could hear a jilted ex-girlfriend's nearly
sing-song but also vaguely hysterical laughter aimed at him. Trying to put
the thought out of his mind, he concentrated on the instructions now being
delivered to him.
"...you are here for two things. To take care of the house, and to please
me. Often, they will be one and the same. You will live here, but since you
so graciously decided to accept my generous offer of working here for free,
you are also an employee. As such, you will be expected to follow certain
rules and prescribed behaviors as set out by your employer, in order to
constantly remind you of your position here. Is that understood
sissy?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"As such, the first rule is that you will never speak unless spoken to,
unless you have a question regarding pleasing me. Is that clear sissy?"
"Sir, yes Sir."
"If you must use the bathroom, if I am here, you must first ask me for
permission. And of course, you will always go the way a proper sissy
should. Do you know what that is, sissy?"--"Sir, I think so Sir."
"And what is that."--"Sir, sitting down, Sir?"--"Very good sissy.
"Every time I enter a room, or you enter a room where I am, or I dismiss
you from a room, you will perform a deep gracious curtsey for me. When you
are standing or kneeling at attention, in other words, awaiting my orders,
your hands will always be kept crossed over your apron. Is that understood
sissy?"--"Sir, yes Sir," she replied. After a brief pause, she quickly
and ditzily crossed her hands in the manner described.
"Your walk is already very feminine. That is good. Have you practiced this
walk before sissy?"--There was a slight silence as the sissy looked at
the ground.
"Sissy?" he raised his voice slightly.
"Sir, yes Sir."
"Very good. But just to make sure you remember exactly who you are, when
you walk, assuming they are not performing a task for me, I want your arms
to always be up, and your wrists to hang limply down, fingers pointing
towards the floor. I'll bet you can do that, can't you sissy?"--"Sir,
yes Sir."--"Do it."--She raised her arms to her sides.
"Do it walking, sissy bitch."--Taking a deep breath at the sting of the
words, she gathered herself and began walking towards the opposite wall,
her arms held up, hands dangling like a skipping little girl or a
flamboyantly gay man. She turned on her heels and strode back to her master
in the same manner.
"Good sissy. Now, here's the tricky part. Whenever I say `Mince, sissy,"' I
want you to walk with your hands down, below your apron, fingers pointed
outward. When I say `Prance, sissy," I want your arms back up like they
were before. Quickly and silently. Is that clear sissy?"--"Sir, yes
Sir."--"Are you sure, sissy?"--"Sir, yes Sir," she repeated.
"Good. Why don't you give it a try. You do want to try it don't
you?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"Let's go. Mince, sissy."
Keeping her arms down straight at her sides, she began the same walk again,
only this time with her arms straight down, fingers pointed outward, in a
manner befitting some sort of walking Barbie doll.
"Prance, sissy."
As she got to the end, she suddenly lifted her arms up. Turning, she held
them up as her hands flopped from side to side.
"Mince, sissy."--Back down went the hands, the arms swinging stiffly
back and forth.
"Prance, sissy."
Again with the dangling wrists.
After a few passes, the master ordered the sissy to stop, barely concealing
his mirth at this game. She came to a halt before him, her bosum now
appearing to heave under her bodice in deep gasping breaths.
"Very good sissy. I want you to understand perfectly clearly. From now on,
you are to do everything as told. If I order you to lisp, you will lisp. If
I order you to speak in a French accent, you will do so. If I have to lift
a finger I do not want to lift, or utter and instruction I do not want have
to utter, you will have failed, and therefore be punished, or cast out the
door as dressed. You don't want either of those to happen now do you,
sissy?"
"Sir, no Sir"
"Good. Since you will be be adapting the role of the woman of the house, I
think it is only appropriate that you have a tour, don't you?"--"Sir,
yes Sir."
"Prance, sissy."
Turning his back, he headed toward the stairs. With wrists limp and heels
clacking behind to keep up, she followed him up the stairs. He went to the
room where she had changed.
"This is your room, where you will sleep and dress. You may repair to it
only at night, or when I say you may. Is this clear sissy?"--"Sir, yes
Sir."
"I will be making some minor modifications on it later, but you needn't e
concerned about that. Let's keep going. Mince, sissy."--Lowering her
arms to the straightened position, she followed along.
"Here is the master bedroom. You will not enter hear except to make my bed
in the morning, or when I call you. Is that understood?"--"Sir, yes
Sir."
"Prance sissy," he snapped, turning again to show her the guest
bedroom. While there was no one staying there, she would still be expected
to dust and vacuum each day, freshening the sheets once a week, hospital
corners on the sheets always. (Mince, sissy.) This applied to all rooms of
the house, the dusting and vacuuming. He showed her to the laundry room,
where she would be doing all his laundry, "Except my underwear, which you
will personally wash by hand, and your own clothes which will are far too
fine and delicate to go through the washing machine."
(Prance, sissy)--"Sir, yes Sir."
After showing her all the relevant areas of the house and giving her
instructions on opening and closing the blinds, the lights, the garbage
(mince sissy), etc., the tour concluded in the kitchen. (Heel sissy.)
"Finally, one of the most important rooms in the house for you sissy. Here,
you will be cooking all of my meals, and cooking them well. But I'm certain
that with the right incentives you will learn to become a very adequate, if
not a gourmet chef in no time at all. Except tonight, since we got a late
start, and you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I will order food and
you can fix yourself a salad. At any rate, you will keep the place
immaculate, the dishes dry and sparkling, and the floors waxed and shined
every day so I can see my reflection. I'm afraid I've let the place go of
late, but that doesn't matter now. In fact, it won't matter ever again,
will it sissy?"
"Sir, no Sir."
"You do know how to wax a floor so I can see my reflection in it, don't you
sissy?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
He stood there watching her.
"Well what are you waiting for?" he said, enjoying her mouth suddenly drop
open in realization.
"Get to it!"
"Sir, yes Sir!" she replied, scurrying off to the cubbard to retrieve her
cleaning supplies.
Master, here you are as ordered Master. -sissy
Chapter 3
After she had scoured all the dishes, given the kitchen a thorough cleaning
and finished waxing the floors, sissy was set about the house to do a
thorough vacuuming and dusting while Master did some work upstairs. Quietly
and demurely, she scampered about in her maid's uniform with a pink
featherduster she herself had bought, holding it between her thumb and two
forefingers as she dusted the place up and down.
"Don't forget the blinds, sissy!" Master yelled down, as he set about
hammering or drilling or some other manly art that was far beyond the
capabilities of what this sissy could do, at least without chipping a nail
or putting a run in her silk stockings. As she did the windows, she
wondered if any passersby could see her, but then realized with a start
that it was probably a bit too late to preserve any dignity now.
By the time she had finished her work and had the place sparkling, it was
approaching early evening. This meant it was time to set the dinner
table. Carefully she laid out the placesetting, complete with white linen
tablecloth, silverware, a napkin in a ring, lit candles, the works. It was
a lavish affair straight out of an old movie, with the exception that the
table was only set for one. After seating her Master and curtseying, she
brought out a simple but elegant pasta dish that she had prepared
herself. During dinner, she was required to stand to the side, refilling
Master's water glass whenever it was below three quarters full, and his
wine glass if he wanted, which he signaled by tapping once on the glass
with a spoon. When it was finished, Master signified his approval.
"Not bad for a first effort sissy, but I believe in time you will learn to
do even better, becoming a real gourmet as well as a maid. Of course I know
you were limited in the ingredients you could use, but you'll rectify that
when you go shopping."
Sissy felt her knees go weak at this thought.
"Oh don't worry, you can have the food delivered for now of course. We
don't want you to take any time away from your housework. If you're lucky,
I may even entrust you with the responsibility of signing for the
delivery. How does that sound, sissy?"
"Sir, very good Sir," she swallowed
"Good. Now clean up."
Sissy curtseyed as the Master got up and left, then removed the
silverware, plates, and the tablecloth, all of which were to be
washed. Once she finished with this, she was allowed to have dinner
herself: a small salad with cucumbers, shredded carrots, sprouts for
protein, 4 croutons, and no dressing. In spite of the meagerness of her
supper she was by now starving and relished each bite as if it were a
porterhouse steak.
After she had finished cleaning up, Master summoned from the living
room. She minced out and curtseyed deeply.
"Fetch me a drink, sissy."-- "Sir, yes Sir."
She curtseyed again and disappeared into the kitchen. When she
returned, she was carrying a silver tray. She set it down beside him. From
a small tumbler, she reached in with a pair of silver tongs and withdrew
several ice cubes, dropping them in the glass. Then she began to open the
can of Coke. She could feel his amusement as she struggled with the tab
while wearing the long, maroon, square-tipped press-on nails which she had
been ordered to put on. Finally she popped it open and poured it in,
handing it to her Master.
"Thank you sissy."--"Sir, yes Sir."
"How are your feet sissy?"--"Sir, a bit sore sir."--"Why don't you
kneel for a bit" he said, pointing down at his feet. "After all, we don't
want achy feet do we?"--"Sir, no Sir," she replied, kneeling at his
feet.
"Take off my shoes," he commanded. She began to untie his laces, but he
stopped her.
"Always kiss my shoes before you touch them. Got that sissy?"--vshe
replied instinctively, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the toe of each
shoe.
"Very good sissy."
She then untied his shoes and removed them one by one, placing them to the
side. Then the socks, which she was folded neatly and put to the side as
well. --"I'm going to allow you to rub my feet sissy. Aren't you
honored?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"In fact, I think you should always ask to rub my feet after dinner, or
whenever I return home. Doesn't that sound like something a good little
maid should do?"--"Sir, yes Sir."
"Well?"--"Sir, may I please rub your feet Sir?"--"You may."
Sissy proceeded to give a long, sensuous foot massage, the kind he could
never persuade his girlfriends to give him. He laid back as she rubbed and
kneaded his feet on her knees. About five minutes or relaxation he seemed
to think of something and sat up for a second. Reaching down, he picked up
one of his socks. Unfolding it, he put it to sissy's lips. Confused, she
puckered up to kiss it, but instead he began stuffing it into her mouth
with his finger. Her eyes went wide as she tasted his toejam and footsweat,
but continued rubbing as he sat back again, satisfied and smiling. After
over an hour of this, he removed the sock.
"Stand up sissy. I think it is time for both of us to get ready for
bed. I'm taking it easy on you tonight, but you've got a big day ahead
tomorrow."
"Sir, yes Sir."
Master had removed her bedroom and bathroom doors, now allowing her to be
seen at all times. She was permitted to remove her uniform, sleeping in
full lingerie with a flimsy, see through, ruffled babydoll nightgown.
Beside her bed was a little bell, which she would answer if Master were to
need anything during the night. After turning down the Master's bed,
fluffing his pillow, and making sure Master had everything he needed, she
was allowed to lock the front door, turn out all the downstairs lights, and
go to bed. She tossed and turned for a bit, not used to her new sleepwear,
but within 15 minutes she was sleeping like a little girl after a full day
of play.