Can I be your French Maid? Ch. 01

Ding-Dong.

The sound was like the shrill wail of a banshee, piercing my brain. The doorbell, now? Who would be at our front door at this time of day?

I froze, the communication between my brain and my body severed. I was suddenly very aware that I was wearing a frilly French maid's uniform.

"Yvette," my wife shouted from downstairs. "Answer that please."

She wasn't serious, was she? The doorbell rang again.

"Yvette!" she barked. "Now."

"Oui, Madame," I croaked, my voice hollow, timid. I left the bedroom, walked downstairs, reached the first floor and through the thin rectangular window beside the front door I could see 1/3 of what I assumed was a delivery driver.

Delivering what? I thought as I nervously reached for the doorknob. I could already imagine the tale he'd spin when he met up with his other delivery driver cronies back at their hideout between deliveries.

"You're never going to believe what happened to me today," he'd say, still buzzing on the raw adrenaline rush. "So, I'm out in the burbs, doing a quick run, when I go up to this plain ol' vanilla house. I ring the doorbell and wait. Normally I give it two rings, and if they're a no show, I leave. Well, I'm two rings in, about to bail when the door opens and standing there..."

He'll almost be in tears at this point. "... standing there in the doorway is this dude and like..." Tears will start streaming down his cheeks. "... he's dressed like a fucking French Maid! Like everything, skimpy frilly dress, nylons, high heels. Hell, he was even holding a feather duster."

They'll all explode at that point, slam fists against metal lunch tables, and draw the attention of everyone else on break. The entire shift would then gather around him for the punchline.

"So, I hand him the tablet for a signature, he signs it, takes the package and he says... and he says... "merci"... fucking merci!"

The room will erupt in a chorus of laughter and mark the origin of one of the greatest tales ever shared amongst delivery drivers. He'll be asked to recount it again, and again... and again. Until it is eventually passed down from one generation of delivery drivers to another like a holy text.

While embellished, there was some truth to what he would say. I did sign for the package and although I can't say for certain if I did say "merci," it's possible. The entire exchange was a blur. It was eerily quiet like all the air had been sucked out of the world. I remember him handing me the tablet to sign, which I did, then he gave me the package. He then turned, walked back to his truck, and I closed the door.

So, in a way, it was all true... except for the feather duster. I hadn't dusted yet, so I knew I wasn't holding one.

I looked down at the large rectangular box. My hands were shaking. I checked the information. It wasn't addressed to me, it was addressed to my madame... my wife.

I carried it into the living room, trying to piece together the right sentence to say when my wife's eyes darted up at me, her gaze like a laser. "Leave it on the bed upstairs... and no peeking. I don't want you to ruin the big surprise."

"Oui, Madame," I said, confused. What big surprise? I thought.

I turned and left the living room. When I was about halfway up the stairs, I gave the box a gentle shake. Something heavy shook back and forth. I checked the shipping address again. There was no return address. The box was plain, the thick cardboard unmarked. It was sealed with transparent packing tape. Wherever it was from, whoever had sent it had been discreet.

I set the package down on the bed and resumed where I had left off, collecting the remaining dirty clothes and tossed them into a laundry basket. As I threw the last stray sock in, my eyes drifted to the package.

Short of cutting through the sealed tape, I was going to have to wait for my 'big surprise.'

Had she anticipated my plan? Was she already several moves ahead of me? The evidence before my eyes suggested as much.

I tried to preoccupy my mind by focusing on my work. I carried the laundry basket down to the washing machines in the basement and loaded it. I hadn't yet broken a sweat, but I was close. My feet ached, my heels unaccustomed to being forced into an uncomfortable position for several hours. I could kick them off. My wife was above me on the first floor and the washing machine was running. Plus, the old creaky wooden stairs would give her away if she tried to creep down them.

No, I thought. I want to savor every second of this. Who knows when I'll be able to do this again, if ever. It had taken me weeks to build up the courage to ask her to do my makeup. That energy was spent and would take a while to recuperate. Plus, maybe she was under the impression that this was a one time deal.

The mystery of my 'big surprise' kept toying with me. I'd narrowed the list down to ten possibilities, would think of another one, shuffle the order and come up with an entirely new list.

While the laundry spun in the washing machine, I dusted the first floor. When I finished with that, I vacuumed. I kept a close eye on my madame, trying to anticipate her next command. She remained focused, her eyes glued to her laptop. I was scrubbing the kitchen sink with a ball of iron wool when I heard her call me from the second floor. Wait, she'd moved?

"Yvette, if I could have a moment of your time?"

I stopped and stared out through the kitchen window. The sun had dipped down below the horizon, the clouds the color of warm cotton candy. How late was it? I checked the clock on the stove. The three hours had flown by, my shift was over.

I set down the ball of iron wool, rinsed the sink, washed my hands and made my way up the stairs. The hallway was bathed in a cinnamon glow, casting shadows like knives. I reached the second floor. The door to the bathroom was closed.

"Madame?" I asked, meekly.

"I'll be with you in a second, Yvette. Wait in the bedroom please," she commanded through the door.

"Oui, Madame," I said softly and walked into our bedroom. Two things caught my attention. One was the red box. It had been dragged out from the closet and was now open. The second was the package. The tape had been cut, the box opened and whatever had been inside it removed.

... all the pieces were starting to fall into place.

I hadn't seen "'the red box' opened in ages. There was nothing particularly special about it. It was a simple transparent plastic storage container, flat and rectangular. It was what was stored inside it that gave it its particular properties. The majority of it was cherry red. It was where my wife stored her kinky lingerie. It was a small collection, purchased for anniversaries or Valentine's day. Many had been used, often to the point that the sticky remnants of a night of sexual delight had to be removed with a damp cloth... and then there were gaps, short at first, then longer, the excuses often justified... "I'm tired. It was a long week... not tonight, I have a headache."

I looked down into it, did a quick inventory. Everything was present except...

"Did I keep you waiting?" The madame asked from behind me. I turned around slowly.

She was standing in the doorway, the soft amber light of the sunset bleeding around her sharp silhouette. She was wearing the blood red latex catsuit I had bought for her in... I couldn't even remember when. It'd been ages ago. I'd bought it on a whim, tried to tempt her to wear it, but had failed. It had then remained buried at the bottom of the red box, until now.

The thick latex hugged every curve of her body like a coat of paint. A thin zipper rose from the tip of her raw sex to her collar, hooked by a silver hoop that hung below her throat.

... it wasn't the only thing she was wearing. I'd solved the riddle and now knew what had been in the mysterious box and surprisingly, I'd guessed wrong.

I've never seen a strap-on dildo before. I've read about them, seen them advertised on shady websites, but never seen one in person, till now.

It was ruby red and coated in a thick layer of glittery lube. Anatomically, it was correct, brought to life in vivid detail.

It was strapped to her waist, the leather bands buckled, pinching into the latex of her catsuit. It was an odd union, but it worked.

She smiled at me. She'd done her own makeup, giving herself a venomous flair. I could see it in her eyeshadow, the colors like poison.

"On your knees," she ordered.

I obeyed and fell to my knees, my hands, trained by the tutorials I'd devoured, folded and resting on my apron.

"Good girl," she said as she crept into the room, her hips swinging like a bell. In my mind, I heard the chime, drowning out all my other thoughts. My mouth watered, my appetite consuming me like a fever. My eyes strayed down, drawn to her huge cock.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" she asked as she stopped in front of me, brought her hand down and wrapped it around her strap-on dildo.

"You weren't the only one who went on a little shopping spree," she said as she slowly stroked it. "And for future reference, if you're going to try and be sneaky, be sure to delete your browser history."

She'd known, I thought in horror. But for how long?

She smiled again, as if able to read my mind. "Don't be mad. I had my suspicions."

"You're not mad?" I asked, my voice stripped bare.

She stepped closer, her thick cock swinging inches away from my face. "We haven't finished playing our little game, Yvette. Parle French s'ill te plait."

"Oui, Madame," I said obediently and looked up at her.

She towered above me, the curves of her body a landscape of rolling hills and valleys. The smooth liquid surface of the latex glimmered. I could see my own reflection in it, the eagerness in my eyes. My lips were drawn tightly, cheeks pinched. Any hesitation I had had withered away. I was treading into new territory, a slave to my deepest darkest kink. As I stared at her massive cock, my lips trembling, I wanted to... I wanted to...

"I want to hear you say it, Yvette," she said as she raised her thick strap-on dildo. "I want you to admit to it, admit to what you are. To me... to yourself."

What was I? I thought. A crossdresser? Yes, but that was only surface level. The kink ran much deeper. There was something else buried deep, caged in my subconscious. I had inadvertently freed it. It was loose now, and it was famished.

The sentence formed in my mind, my lips trembling as I spoke it. "Je veux te sucer la bite."

She smiled, crowned victorious in the game we'd both been playing. "Do you now?" she asked as she brought her other hand down and gripped the dildo's base, holding it erect like a spear.

"Three hours," she said as she inched closer, teasing my lips with her mighty cock. "That was all it took to break you down, tear away your feeble defenses and turn you into a drooling cocksucker. I'm actually surprised. I thought it would take longer."

Cocksucker, I thought. Had I been wrong this entire time? Was that what I actually was? Was crossdresser the thin veneer, my true fate, one with a huge cock in my mouth?

I parted my lips, eager and ready. There was no doubt in my mind now, my path as clear as daylight.

Her smile broadened, pulled tight like a wire. "So eager, so obedient. "

She raised her hard cock and held it there, forcing me to close the gap. I leaned forward, my wet lips wrapping around its thick mushroom tip.

... the line was crossed.

I was a cocksucker.

I couldn't anticipate the severity of that decision, a decision I had made eager and willing. Had I been able to peer into the future, see the strange places it would take me or the person I would become... well.

But I didn't know, nor would I have cared. Not now, Not while I had a cock in my mouth.

I dove deeper, wrapping my lips around her thick shaft. "Eyes on me," she ordered.

I looked up at her, my mouth a perfect ring, wrapped around her hard cock.

"That's good, just like that. Savor every inch," she said and smiled. "I always thought you'd be a natural."

I obeyed, maintaining a steady pace, taking her cock deeper, reaching for the base as I fought to take every inch.

She let out a soft moan, her waist bucking as she forced her cock further into my mouth. A second later her hand was behind my head, forcing me further down her glistening wet cock.

"Yes," she moaned. "Just like that... faster."

I obeyed, moving in one fluid motion, rushing from the tip of her hard cock to the base, her shaft glistening with saliva. Whatever control I'd had, I relinquished, I was hers now, my mind a blank slate, obedient, her willing sex toy.

She changed before my eyes. I'd awoken something feral in her. She stared down at me, her eyes like wildfires. The latex gave her a demonic aura. It was as if I'd accidentally summoned something from the pits of hell... and I was hers, bound to her, her obedient servant.

She snarled, her eyes ablaze, pulled her cock from my trembling lips and forced me up and onto the bed. Before I could understand what was happening I was forced onto all fours. She reached under my skirt, past the petticoat and tore my panties down.

"Don't struggle," she growled. "I know you want it, you sissy little slut. Say it!"

... I did. It had been a fantasy that had plagued me for years, one I'd refused to even consider suggesting. It was a line I couldn't cross, the dynamics of our relationship forever soiled... if I.. If I let her...

The words appeared in my mind as if I'd summoned them. "Baise-moi dans le cul," I moaned.

I'd said it. I'd actually said it. Fuck me in the ass. I hadn't just said it. I'd cried for it, pleaded, begged.

The tip of her strap-on dildo struck me with the force of a sledgehammer. It went deep, raw, penetrating me. I let out a cry. It was a mix of pain and exquisite pleasure, my virginity shattered as she stripped me of it.

I was eager to give it. I dug my hands into the bed sheets and braced myself against every thrust as she hammered against my ass. My French had deteriorated, "Oui," the only word I was able to moan as she fucked me.

Her hands dug into my hips, just above my garter as she steadied herself and continued her assault, pounding deeper into me.

I'd no concept of my own anatomy, the sensations that awaited, but in that final thrust, I came harder than I had ever experienced before.

She fell onto the bed panting, and I crawled up to her, burying my head between her breasts. Her hand came up, grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in closer as her chest rose and fell with each deep breath. I looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, a smile painted across her lips. I remained there, tight against her, savoring the waves of pleasure as they rolled over me.

"Etais-je... bon?" I whispered, eager for her approval.

She looked down at me, the sweat glistening on her forehead. She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "You were wonderful, Yvette, exactly as I had imagined you'd be."

I smiled, snuggled closer to her and drifted off into sleep, still wearing the frilly French maid's uniform, my ass lightly throbbing from the raw sex. It was a deep sleep, blissful, and one of the last I would have before the last traces of my life, my old life, the one I'd known as my wife's husband, would be a distant memory.