Can I be your French Maid? Ch. 01

I picked up the apron, struggled to make sense of what was up and what was down, then slipped it on, and blindly tied it in the back.

I pinned the bows, slipped on the frilly wrist cuffs, raised the headband above my head and donned it like I had just won a beauty pageant.

All that remained were the Mary Janes. I sat back down on the bed, reached over, picked up the short rectangular box and opened it.

The short heeled black Mary Janes were cradled in tissue paper. I reached in and picked them up. The toe was a small, curved stub, the heel clunky. A single band of shiny black leather crossed the gap between each side and was buckled with a metal clasp.

The size conversion had been pretty straight forward, though as I held them, I swore they looked a lot smaller than my plain old sneakers.

I tried them on. My foot slipped in without any resistance, instantly taking on the shoe's feminine form.

I stood up. My posture had changed, the heel of the shoes raising my foot which caused my ass to stick out.

I took a step, cautiously. It was a new sensation. Careful, I thought. Calculate every step. This entire illusion will quickly unravel if I fall flat on my face.

Having fully dressed I'd finally arrived at the big moment, my big reveal. I walked to the bathroom, my heels ringing as they hit the hardwood floor. My hips swayed, reprogrammed by my new attire.

I walked in, flipped on the light switch and greeted my new reflection.

I gasped. It was gone. My old reflection was gone! It was like a well worn-in pair of sneakers, rough around the edges but comfortable, and it was gone! It had been scrubbed clean, replaced by someone else, by someone new.

... or had it?

I leaned in. There was still a faint hint of my old appearance, there had to be. As clever as the makeup was, it couldn't shape bone. My nose was still the same size, it was just... new. I'd always thought my features were petite, finer but it was as if the makeup had cast them in a different light.

I looked up. My wife had indeed reshaped my eyebrows. They were ruler straight, the tips like daggers. Was it permanent?

She hadn't lied when she said the colors were bold. The eyeshadow was bubblegum pink with a hint of silver, glittering like sequins.

My cherry red lips had taken on a new shape and were pouty.

As I stared at my reflection, mesmerized, my eyes welled up with tears. Careful, I thought as my lips curled up into a smile. You don't want to ruin your makeup. I could have stood there for hours, captivated by the spell my wife had cast. No, I thought, the madame is waiting, and I don't want to be late for my first shift.

I left the bathroom and walked downstairs, anxious as I reached the ground floor. I was about to make my grand entrance. How would she react? Even the slightest snicker would be devastating, shattering my fragile confidence.

I reached the bottom step, took a deep breath, gathered what remained of my courage and walked into the living room.

"Bonjour Madame," I said, politely. "Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?" I asked.

My wife peered up above her laptop and lit up. "Oh my god, and you even polished off your French? I love it!" she said beaming as she set down her wine glass.

... a wine glass? It was then that I noticed an open bottle of white wine beside her laptop. Wine? This early?

My attention was drawn back to her as she clapped several times. "My, my how lovely... give us a twirl. I want to see the whole outfit."

I blushed, the heat radiating from my cheeks. "Merci Madame... Oui Madame," I said and did a small curtsy.

... a curtsy. Yes, I even knew how to do a proper curtsy.

I'd spent hours scouring the web, devouring every tutorial I could find. There was a subtlety to it, an art. It had taken me several attempts in front of a mirror before I got it right. After I rose, I did a slow turn, allowing her to see my entire outfit.

"You've certainly outdone yourself, that's a stunning uniform, fits you perfectly too... a sale you say?"

I smiled and placed my hands, one on top of the other on the apron. "Oui Madame," I said in a sweet voice. I'd practiced that as well. In fact, I'd taken a deep dive, stopping just short of signing up for an online etiquette class.

"And so well behaved too. How absolutely delightful."

I smiled again. her words were like honey in my ears. "Comment puis-je etre utile... aujourd'hui?" I asked her.

My French vocabulary was limited, pulled from what little I could remember from high school and what I'd naturally absorbed from TV, movies and video games. I think I had just asked her how I could help her today.

She looked around our small living room then picked up her glass of wine and took another sip. "You can start with the floors. The mop and bucket are in the hall closet."

"Oui, Madame," I said and did another curtsy. I turned and walked to the closet, my heels ringing off the floor. The garters tugged on the nylons. My freshly shaven legs tingled, flooding my brain with a wave of euphoria.

My heart had already done several laps when I reached the hall closet. Was I enjoying this? Absolutely! It was exactly as I had envisioned it.

I opened the hallway closet, leaned down, balanced on my heels and pulled out the mop and bucket. It was apple red, small with a basket to rinse out the dirty water.

... and I'd used it how many times?

Chores, me? No thanks!

I had no shortage of excuses to rattle off when cornered, my favorite 'on the weekend' had a tiny loophole. I never specified which weekend.

I had a sneaking suspicion my wife was considered 'the big D,' and half expected to find 'divorce lawyer' amongst her internet history. Yet against all the odds, we'd survived.

I rolled the bucket into the kitchen. Wait, did I need to add soap? I really didn't have a clue how anything worked, did I?

Slightly embarrassed, I walked to the open doorway between the kitchen and the living room. It wasn't a question I had anticipated I'd need to ask. I pooled from my limited resources, butchering every word as I spoke. "Excusez-moi Madame," I croaked. "Ou est le..."

She interrupted me before I could finish. "Underneath the kitchen sink. The blue plastic squeeze bottle and only a tiny squirt," she said without looking up.

"Merci, Madame," I said and did a small curtsy.

She peered up above the laptop, her eyes like daggers. "Yvette."

"Oui, Madame," I replied.

"No further interruptions, is that understood?"

"Oui, Madame," I said and slunk back into the kitchen.

I walked to the sink, kneeled down and opened the cupboard. It was packed full of different sized plastic bottles. The bright blue bottle was easy to spot. I grabbed it, opened it and gave it a quick squirt into the bucket. One should be sufficient, I thought.

After I had returned it to the cupboard, I grabbed the mop's handle and wheeled the bucket into the living room. My wife ignored me as she continued to work.

As I pushed the bucket, the hem of my short skirt bobbed with every step. It flared out, the white petticoat propping it up like an umbrella. The tops of my silky thigh high nylons were visible underneath, the garters rising up into the sea of snow white ruffles.

I hadn't realized how frilly the dress was until I'd assembled all the pieces. I'd also discovered more bows. They grew like weeds, popping up wherever they could take root. There were also thin black silk ribbons woven into the hem of the sleeves which, when tied, added to the final tally.

Fifteen, I thought, including the large fluffy bow that was pinned to the back of the uniform like a kite. That seemed excessive. Yet, I wouldn't have removed a single one. I loved how I felt while I was wearing the French maid's uniform. It was thrilling, surfacing a new sensation buried deep inside me that was stronger than just plain old vanilla sexual arousal.

A word had appeared several times while I had been searching the internet for the French maid's uniform. At first, I thought the two weren't connected, but it was often used to describe the uniforms I was searching for, often matching the image of the dress... of me, perfectly.

... sissy.

I chewed on the word as I pulled the mob out of the bucket, drained the excessive water and flopped it down on the hardwood floor.

... sissy.

Was I? Of course not. I had a strong masculine personality. I was stubborn and often wouldn't relent until I got my way. Although athletically lean, I was still a beacon of masculinity with my long silky hair, toned thin legs and... a petite waist?

As I started to clean, swinging the mop in long graceful strokes like a paintbrush, I looked up at my wife, my madame. Her gaze was fixed to her computer screen, an air of authority surrounding her. I was envious of the command she exuded. It radiated from a place of pure strength, and standing there, perched on my heels, the tight frilly cotton dress pinching my petite frame, I felt physically smaller, which was odd because if we stood back to back, I'd tower above her.

Not that you'll be doing much standing, a voice from a shadowy depth inside me whispered. She'll soon have you on your knees where you belong, obediently waiting, eager to please.

My mouth started to water. I didn't know why, nor understood what I was craving, but I was gripped by a new appetite, one I couldn't quite visualize. I tried to focus on it, pull it from the murky depths of my subconscious, yet there it remained, draped in shadows, eluding me.

All in due time, the voice whispered. You're not the only one who has... plans.

I took my time with the floors, working from one corner to another, inching my way towards the door. When I had finished, I set the mop down in the bucket and stood back, proudly waiting for my madame's approval. She peered up above her laptop, looked down at the floor in disgust and uttered three words in a voice that was as cold as a glacier. "Do it again."

Deflated, I swallowed my pride, returned to the kitchen, refilled the bucket and proceeded to wash the floor a second time. I took my time, conscious of every stroke of the mop. As I worked, my heels tapped on the hardwood floor. I tried to mute them, afraid I might disrupt my madame's concentration, but it was difficult. "Shush!" I hissed at them.

Even the simple act of balancing proved to be challenging. Propped up on my heels, my entire body was now realigned. If that wasn't enough, the tight fabric of the frilly French maid's uniform hugged every curve, restricting my movement. It was like wading through water.

When I was done, I surveyed my work. The floor sparkled, possessing a new lease on life. I nervously waited for my madame's verdict. She looked up.

"Better, but next time sweep first."

It was as if I'd been awarded a grand prize. "Merci, Madame," I said beaming. I waited for my next task.

She looked back down at her laptop. "Gather the laundry, and while the machines are running, dust everything on the first and second floor." She reached over, picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. "When you're done with that, you can vacuum the carpets."

"Oui, Madame," I said, curtsied and wheeled the bucket and mop back into the kitchen. Laundry, dusting, vacuum, I thought as I dumped the dirty water into the sink. Laundry, dusting, vacuum.

It was more than I'd planned to accomplish during the short three hours I'd agreed to be her personal maid. Was I complaining? No. I enjoyed the work. Which was odd because I avoided doing chores, often vanishing if the word was even uttered. Yet now, dolled up, wearing a frilly dress I was savoring it. Would there be unforeseen consequences of the deal I'd made? Would I regret the monster I'd created?

I walked up the stairs to our bedroom, my dress prancing like a giddy puppy. I picked up an empty basket and started to collect the stray laundry. It was easy work. My mind was uncluttered, free from all the pesky thoughts that often kept me in a perpetual state of anxiety.

... I could get used to this, I thought. Why not? We both knew who wore the pants in the relationship, why not make it official?

It wasn't as if I'd miss my job. My career was in a slow death spiral, the prospect of a raise or promotion grim. It might take a bit of clever financial juggling, but in theory we could live on one salary. The house would be a lot tidier. I could even take up cooking and have a piping hot meal ready for her when she got home.

As I continued to round up the dirty laundry, I imagined it, painting a vivid picture in my mind. I'd wait for her to walk in through the front door then rush to her, throw my arms around her neck, give her a big passionate kiss and ask her about her day.

"Better now that I'm home," she said as she reached down and pulled me closer.

I let out a giggle and kissed her again.

"What's this?" she asked as she squeezed my waist.

"It's a surprise," I teased. "But you'll have to wait till after dinner. I don't want you to spoil your appetite. Everything is ready. Are you hungry?"

She leaned in and kissed my neck. "Famished."

"No games and don't leave a mark again!"

She ignored me and gently bit my neck. I squealed and pulled away. "Behave!"

She laughed, let me go, took off her coat and loosened her tie. "So, How was your day, what have you been up to?"

I darted back into the kitchen to calm a bubbling pot of water howling at me from the stove. "Nothing too exciting, and you?"

She walked into the living room, sat down on the couch and opened a newspaper. "I spent the day chasing clowns around the circus. I swear if you rounded them all up, added their IQ, combined, you'd still be shy of a dozen."

I laughed as I picked up a wooden spoon, stirred the rice and made the final preparations for dinner.

I looked down. She didn't even mention my new short-sleeved flared dress. Had she even noticed it?

It was strawberry red with snow white polka dots. It flared out into a skirt propped up by a thick petticoat. When she'd grabbed my waist, she'd felt what I was wearing underneath... which I was saving for dessert.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked from the kitchen.

"Please," she replied.

I set down the wooden spoon, turned, pulled a glass from a cabinet, filled it with ice and whisky and brought it to her.

Her eyes remained fixed on the newspaper as I walked into the living room, gently swinging my hips from side to side.

"Anything exciting in the world of global finance?" I asked as I set down her drink.

"There are a few corporate acquisitions which may throw a wrench into our quarterly forecast but I don't think they'll destabilize the markets," she said as she picked up the drink without looking up at me.

Pay attention to me! I pouted as I stood there. "Are the markets often... unpredictable?" I asked.

"Only to those who don't pay close attention."

"And you pay close... attention?"

"Well, that's why they pay me the big bu..." she said as she looked up and almost dropped her drink.

In the few minutes she'd had her eyes glued to the newspaper I'd reached back, pulled the zipper down and let my short-sleeved dress fall to the floor.

"To wet your appetite," I said as I brought my hands down, following the sharp lines of the bubblegum pink corset I was squeezed into. The silky material shimmered like a hard candy coating and was decorated with white frilly bows.

It had been a nightmare to put on. I'd wrapped it around my chest, took one last long breath, exhaled, attached the hooks then spun it around. Its grip was like a fist, molding my waist into an hourglass shape.

The underwiring seemed determined to push-up my breasts which sadly, I was lacking. It had taken what it could salvage and given me a surprisingly convincing B-cup.

A pair of garters attached to snow white thigh high stockings which I'd paired with a set of white high heels.

I'd used a recipe for a strawberry shortcake as my inspiration. The plan was to wait till after dinner, then serve her a delicious slice of... me.

"... and please," I said as I spun around, bent over and picked up her discarded tie. "I'd appreciate it if you picked up after yourself. I spend all day cleaning to keep this house spotless. It's the least you could do."

I could feel her eyes lingering on my ass, staring at the lacy silk panties she'd unwittingly paid for with her credit card.

Good, I thought. I enjoyed toying with her. I peeked over my shoulder and smiled devilishly. "Would you like... an appetizer?"

She took a sip of her whisky then set it down on the coffee table. "So what's the occasion? Please tell me I haven't forgotten another anniversary?"

"No reason," I said as I turned slowly, wrapping her tie around my wrist. "I just wanted to remind you of what's waiting for you after a long... hard day.

"They can be very hard," she said, leaned back and gently parted her legs.

I walked slowly, rocking my hips back and forth. The garters tugged on my nylons as I crossed the room to her.

When I reached her, I looked down. My heart, caged by the corset, beat frantically. I raised my hand and looked down at the tie wound around my wrist.

"You know," I said softly as I stared at it. "I can't remember the last time I wore one of these."

My wife looked up at me and smirked. "You're not missing much. Do you remember how to tie it?"

I thought back, trying to remember a time I had. The memories were faded, mere echoes of a past life. My past life. "No," I whispered.

"Turn around, and I'll show you."

I obeyed and slowly turned around. What game was she playing?

"Place your hand behind your back."

I obeyed.

"The trick," she said as she tightened the tie around my wrist. "Is to use a simple knot. There, now give me your other hand."

I obeyed and placed my other hand behind my back.

"This is actually a lot easier to do in a mirror," she laughed, wound the tie around my other wrist and pulled tightly. "There, that should about do it. Try and pull it loose."

I pulled against the knot and let out a soft whimper as it burned into my skin. "I... I can't."

She reached over, picked up her drink and took another sip then spoke. "And you won't, not until I say so."

I struggled to free myself which only caused the knot to tighten more.

"Looks like you're in quite the pickle, pet."

I was trapped, at her mercy. Dread rolled over me, raw and primordial and yet there was something else there... pleasure?

"Turn around," she commanded.

I turned slowly, tugging on the knot. I'd been easily led into a simple trap. Was I that foolish?

"Drop to your knees."

I looked down at the hardwood floor. With my hands bound, wearing heels, there was no easy way I could. I'd be lucky if I didn't fall flat on my face.

"Drop to your knees," she said again, her voice harsher.

"But..."

"I won't ask you a third time."

What choice did I have? Reluctantly, I eased down onto my knees, lost my balance then dropped down onto them. The pain stung, and I cried out.

"There, much better," she said as she looked down at me with a wicked smile painted across her face. "So, what was that about an appetizer?"

My eyes strayed down to the throbbing bulge in her pants and wet my lips.

"That's a good girl," she said, reached down and undid her zipper. "Now, show Daddy what an obedient pet you ar..."

Thud.

I snapped out of my dream, blinked several times and looked around. I was in our bedroom. The sliding door to our closet was open and a shoebox had fallen out. That wasn't unusual, what was, was that all the boxes near the bottom of the closet had been disturbed. How had I not noticed that while I was changing?

Everything had been shoved to one side, cleared to make way for the...

No fucking way, I thought as I stared wide eyed in disbelief at the legendary 'red box.' Why had she dug that up? Why now? We hadn't opened that since...