Chrissie

I hesitated. "Um, is it okay if I let the panties down now?"

Karl scoffed. "Yeah, go ahead — but that's a good sissy for asking."

"Thank you, sir."

I let my hands drop from my head and secured the panties in my grip before inching my nose back, thinking it would've been disrespectful to let them fall to the floor. Then, I dashed to the bathroom to fetch a towel and when I returned, I kept my gaze downward, not wanting to gawp at my naked mistress. She snatched the towel from my grasp and wiped herself before handing it to her husband, who followed suit, while I stood before them in my frilly underthings, still looking down, still shaking from head to toe.

Karl popped his lips. "Hey, Chrissie, how'd you like to taste Rebecca's pussy?"

My jaw dropped and my hopes skyrocketed, but they came crashing down an instant later when he smirked and handed me the towel. "Here, lick that, bet you can taste her on there."

Rebecca giggled as I took the towel from Karl.

"Go ahead," he said. "Lick it."

Red-faced, I lifted the towel to my mouth.

"Hee-hee, can you taste her, sissy?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Careful, there, sissy, that might be me you're tasting," Karl smirked, and I avoided eye contact. He chuckled. "I'm just playing with you, Chrissie; ain't I been nice to you tonight?"

"Oh, yes, sir, thank you sir."

"Then, you think you can do me a little favor, too?"

"Of course, sir. Anything."

"Great. How about you gas up the Mercedes before you go home?"

I gulped at the humiliation of it, but peeped out a "yessir."

"Thanks, Chrissie. Just slide the key through the mail slot when you're through."

"Y-yes, sir."

Rebecca sighed. "Well, that was nice, but you need to finish up and go home." She turned to her husband. "I'm tired, baby; I want to go to sleep. Can't he just clean up out there? We don't need to sit and watch him, do we?"

Karl sneered at me. "I don't know, sissy, you gonna be stealing my wife's panties?"

"Oh, no, sir, of course not."

"Then, okay. I guess you can go ahead."

"Thank you, sir, for ... for, um, trusting me."

Rebecca smiled. "You're such a doll, Chrissie. You work so hard and put up with so much. You know what?" She nodded at the panties in my hand. "Why don't you go ahead and just keep those?"

"Oh ... oh ... Mrs. Martin, thank you. Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Martin, thank you."

Karl chuckled. "Damn, I think he done hit the sissy Lotto!"

My angel yawned. "Okay, Chrissie, we're gonna go to sleep now. Finish up the cleaning and make sure you lock up behind you. Thanks again, baba."

"Um ... okay. Uh ... good night, Mrs. Martin. Uh, good night, sir. T-thank you for letting me serve you."

"No problem, sissy," Karl said. "Don't stretch them panties out too bad wearing 'em, you hear?"

"N-no, sir." I exited their bedroom, laughing to myself at the absurdity of Karl's assumption that I would dare consider desecrating the sacred material that had touched my angel's most private parts by donning the panties myself.

As Rebecca and Karl snoozed, I finished cleaning their house with a song in my submissive heart. And after driving my Mercedes to the Sunoco station and filling it with premium gas, I even spruced up the inside, emptied the trash bag and made sure to return the seat to the position Karl preferred.

I wasn't happy about the huge burn mark in the leather seat — probably from an errant joint, since Karl didn't smoke cigarettes — but even that couldn't dampen my spirits as I dropped off my car at the Martins' full of gas and drove my rented BMW home, where I spent the night with my nose in Rebecca's panties and my soul in sissy heaven.

Part XI

My masters had wanted me to get an early start Saturday morning, so by 9:30am I was already in my maid's uniform scrubbing the hallway baseboards while Rebecca and Karl relaxed in bed smoking a wakeup joint and watching cartoons.

From my kneeling position just outside their room, I fluctuated from cleaning to ogling the half-dressed, reclining stoners to glancing at their TV show, "Hoop the Horse." When a wheel fell off the equine hero's dune buggy, sending the vehicle tumbling over a cliff, Rebecca slapped her head.

"That's what I was trying to remember to tell you — that damn wheel on the car keeps rattling," she said. "Can you look at it today?"

"Yeah, I guess." Karl scoffed. "I don't know about you, honey, but I been thinking it ain't right that we got a slave driving a goddamn BMW and you're stuck with that piece of shit. Hey, Chrissie!"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Get your ass in here."

I scrambled to my feet and stepped into the bedroom. "Y-yes, sir?"

Karl frowned. "You think it's right that Rebecca has to drive that old Neon while you're running around in that nice Beemer you rented? I mean, ain't you supposed to be the damn slave around here?"

"Um, y-yes, sir."

"Well, then, she shouldn't be driving that Neon, should she?"

"Um ... I ... uh, no, sir." I bit my tongue; if I had any balls, I'd have asked the selfish bastard why he didn't just let his wife take my Mercedes while he drove the older of the two cars. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that questioning Mr. King Shit would only cause my angel to reprimand me, because in her eyes the sonofabitch could do no wrong.

Karl leaned his head back and regarded me through buzzed eyes. "I think my girl should be driving that Beemer, what do you think, sissy?"

I gulped. There was only one acceptable answer. "Um, yes, sir. Uh, I'd need to add her name at the rent-a-car place, though, so she'd be authorized to drive it."

"Yeah, well, make sure you get that done before she has to go to work Monday," Karl ordered.

"Y-yes, sir. Um, I better get there today, then, sir, because they're closed Sundays ... um, if it's okay, I can run over there as soon as they open at 11, and then come back and finish up my chores here."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Take care of it, Chrissie. My Becca should have the best."

Rebecca leaned over and kissed her hubby. "I love you, babe."

"Love you, too, girl."

I seethed and returned to cleaning the hallway baseboards. As usual, my resentment faded after just a few minutes and was replaced by an overwhelming desire to please my angel. I got to thinking that maybe it made more sense to just buy her a new car — and then, like a good wimp, I started second-guessing myself. Would she consider that over the top? Would Karl? And if I bought her a car, would I have to get one for him, too? I already knew the answer; did I really want to shell out that kind of money?

Fuck it, I scoffed to myself as I wiped a smudge from the wall — why not buy them a goddamn house while I was at it?

The first time that question ran through my mind, my inner voice was being a smartass. Then, as I worked my way down the hall to the baseboards near the bathroom, I started contemplating the matter more seriously. Why not buy them each a car? Why not buy them a house? I certainly had the money. Were they not my masters? Was I not their slave? Was it not my job to make their lives comfortable at all costs? Was this dynamic of ours not real? It sure seemed like it to me; after just a few weeks I couldn't imagine a world without being allowed to serve Rebecca — and yes, Karl, too, as much as I hated to admit it.

After finishing in the hallway, as my masters were working on the morning's third joint, I decided to take a chance and bring up the idea of buying them new cars, although I thought offering a house at that point might be a bit much.

I stood before them wringing my hands. "Um, Mrs. Martin? Um, sir?"

Rebecca hit the doobie and blew smoke my way. "What, baba?"

"Um, I ... I hope you don't think I'm moving too fast, or that I would ... um, you know, expect anything ... you know, in return ... I mean, you might think it's a little too much, but it's something you both really need, and I ... well, I think—"

"What the fuck are you babbling about, sissy?" Karl took the joint from his wife and held it in front of his lips. "Spit it out, for chrissakes."

"Um, well, I was wondering if it might not be better to ... uh, for me to just ... um ... buy new cars for you guys."

Rebecca and Karl glanced at each other. Then she turned to me, her brow in a knit.

"That's sweet, Chrissie ... but ... I don't know ..."

"But ... uh, it's not a problem; I ... um, I have the money."

"I don't ..." she mused. "No ... no, I don't want you buying cars, Chrissie."

"Mrs. Martin, how come?"

My angel arched her eyebrow. "Well, frankly, if you want to know the truth, I don't want you thinking I owe you anything."

"Oh, no, no, Mrs. Martin, I would never think that." I clasped my hands together. "No, I would never ... please, I would never, ever think that you owe me anything. Please — I'm the one who owes you."

Karl scratched his balls and sucked his teeth. "And you're talking about buying 'em for us free and clear? No strings attached; they'd be our cars, 100%? In our names?"

"Sir, yes, sir, no strings, sir. I ... I just want ... I just want to serve you." My eyes watered. "Please."

Rebecca turned to her husband. "What do you think, honey?"

He shrugged. "Sure, fuck it, why not? As long as our name's on the title and not his. Hell, it's Saturday — we can go the damn dealership later on today if you want to."

Rebecca's eyes lit up. "Okay, baby, if you think it's alright."

He nodded. "Hell, yeah, I don't see why not. Fuck it."

She studied my face and chuckled. "My little Chrissie. You do soooooo much for us, don't you?"

I bowed my head. "Um ... I don't know ... I ..."

"Well, I'm happy we have you, baba. Such a loyal, hard-working little thing."

A tear snaked down my cheek. "T-thank you so much, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, sir. I'm happy to be serving you. I really am."

Karl clucked his tongue. "One big happy family. Now, I'm starting to get the munchies; how 'bout you whip us up some bacon and eggs right quick, sissy?"

"Oh, yes, sir, coming right up, sir." I literally ran to the kitchen. Rebecca giggled at my enthusiasm.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

Karl drove us to the dealership in my Mercedes, with Rebecca riding shotgun and me hunched in the backseat, my ears on fire from the Bose system blasting 105.3 FM, the Young Country station, at full volume.

He pulled into Bob Baxter's Friendly Ford and made a beeline for the row of F-350s. Karl and Rebecca strolled through the lot holding hands and gawking at trucks while I followed behind them. Within minutes, a salesman appeared.

"Hey, guys, that's a nice one, huh?" he nodded at a red F-350 that had attracted Karl's eye.

"Real nice." Karl kicked the tire. "Can I take 'er for a spin?"

"Sure, follow me," the salesman said and we trailed him to the office, where he copied Karl's driver's license before handing him the key.

"Sweeeeeet," Karl said, sounding like a middle-schooler as he gamboled out of the office toward the truck, leaving Rebecca and me trailing behind.

"Come on, baby," he called over his shoulder. "Hop in."

She slipped into the passenger seat and Karl pulled out of the lot.

The salesman smiled. "You guys all friends?"

"Uh ... yeah." I crammed my hands in my pockets and pretended to read the sticker on a car window, sending a wordless signal to this greaseball that I wasn't interested in further conversation. My head was pounding from the pressure of the situation; at some point I was going to have to explain that I was the one who'd be paying for the truck my companion clearly planned to drive, and all morning I'd been racking my brain concocting possible cover stories.

I'd considered the obvious options; I could say I was Karl's brother or uncle, and that this was a birthday present; or that I'd lost a bet. But I hadn't yet discussed the matter with Karl, and I was scared the immature sonofabitch might go ahead and tell the salesman the truth — that I was the couple's rich slave who was buying them each a vehicle.

Despite all my teeth-gnashing, the subject never came up. When Karl told the salesman he'd take the truck, the man asked how he'd be paying and my master pointed at me. I simply said, "I'll be taking care of it," and the greasy guy in the tan suit, knowing he had a for-sure pending sale and reading my mood, shut the fuck up and stopped asking personal questions.

After getting the financial issues squared away, securing the plates and setting up the insurance payments through my checking account, Karl drove his new toy out of the dealership. Rebecca took the wheel of my Mercedes while I sat beside her; she didn't want to ride with her husband because he'd said he wanted to "let 'er rip" before heading to the next car lot, meaning he was going to probably hit more than 100mph. My angel wanted no part of that.

"This is so nice of you, Chrissie," she said as we sat at a redlight. "Honestly, I don't even know what to say."

I gulped. "I ... I really want to make you and Mr. Martin happy. I really do. It's ... it's all I ever think about."

"Well, you're sweet. You always were; that was never the problem." She reached over and rested her hand on my thigh. "Chrissie, I know things didn't work out between us when we were together, but ... I don't know, this just seems perfect. This kind of relationship, I mean. It's like you were born to be my slave. I'm so glad I called you."

Tears filled my eyes. "Oh, Mrs. Martin, thank you. Thank you so much. All I want is for you to be happy — and for Mr. Martin to be happy, too."

"Well, I am happy, Chrissie." She shimmied in her seat and squealed. "Now let's go get my Range Rover. Woo-hoo!"

Part XII

When the salesman at the Sunnyside Land Rover dealership asked Rebecca if she and I were married, her response sounded suspiciously like a scoff.

"Chris is a friend," she said. "My husband will be here in a minute; he had to stop and do something first."

She neglected to tell the salesman that the "something" Karl "had to stop and do" entailed him hitting the freeway and slamming the pedal to the metal to see how fast his new truck would go, which is why Rebecca had ridden with me in the first place, since she knew how crazy her redneck husband drove.

"Ah." The salesman nodded at the $170,000 Range Rover P530 SUV Rebecca had been eyeing. "Well, I bet your husband is going to love seeing you in this. It's a beauty. I can go get the keys if you want to take 'er for a spin."

"Ooh, wow, yes, please." My angel's smile lit up the universe.

As we followed the man into the office, Rebecca leaned toward me, her shoulder brushing my ear. "This is so awesome. You're so sweet for doing this. Thank you so much. I've never had a new car; shit, I've never even had a car that's less than five years old. So, thanks."

"Well, I'm just really, really glad that you're happy — so, thank YOU." I was dying to say more but didn't want to display too much servility within earshot of the salesman. Had nobody been around, I'd have dropped to my knees and thanked my Princess for giving me the opportunity to make her this happy. I'd have told her how grateful I was for allowing me back into her life. I'd have shed tears at how beautiful she looked when her eyes were lit up with joy.

Instead, I swallowed my boiling emotions and stood by while the man photocopied Rebecca's driver's license and handed over the keys.

She grinned, showing me the key fob. "What do you say, Chris? Let's go for a ride."

I followed her and the salesman outside, thrilled that she'd invited me along to share this moment — a feeling that immediately evaporated when Karl's red F-350 came screeching onto the lot.

He rolled out of his truck and stormed our way. "Fuckin' cops gave me a goddamn speeding ticket on the freeway."

"Oh, damn, baby, I'm sorry; that sucks." Rebecca walked up to her husband and melted into his embrace. "Don't let it bother you, okay, baby?"

He huffed and squeezed his wife tighter. "Yeah, fuck it. I ain't gonna."

Rebecca had to tilt her head way back in order to smile up at her towering husband, an act that sent a bolt of humiliation shooting through my 5'6 frame. "Baby, I'm about to take this Rover out for a ride if you want to come," she said.

Karl shrugged. "Sure, babe, let's go."

My beloved turned to me. "Chris, why don't you go ahead and get started on all the paperwork and insurance stuff? That way, if I end up deciding on this one or another one, we'll have a head start already."

"Um ... uh, okay." I'd almost slipped and called her "Mrs. Martin" in public but caught myself.

This salesman was smart enough to refrain from asking questions, and he didn't comment on how my "friend" had just cast me aside and invited her husband along for the test-drive after she'd just asked me to go seconds earlier — even though I obviously was the one who'd be paying for the vehicle, should it strike her fancy. That's exactly what happened; by the time she returned, Rebecca had fallen in love with the SUV and the first words out of her mouth after she pulled up were: "I'll take it."

That didn't exactly put me in the best bargaining position as far as trying to finagle a lower price but the glow on my angel's face was all I could think about, so following some perfunctory wrangling I signed on the dotted line.

After the paperwork was filled out, the insurance squared away and the deal consummated, Rebecca, Karl and I huddled in the lot outside the dealership office.

"I'm hungry; let's go eat," Rebecca said.

"What about him?" Karl nodded my way.

She shrugged. "He can come with."

"I dunno, babe. It's getting late and he's still got all them weeds to pull next door, and a bunch of shit to do at the house still, since we been gone all day. Unless you want him to come over tomorrow and do it all."

"No, no, we were gonna go to that fish fry with Cyndy and Tom tomorrow, remember?" Rebecca turned to me. "I'm sorry, baba, you can eat with us next time. Go ahead back to the house and get started pulling those weeds, and we'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

"Y-yes, Mrs. Martin," I said after glancing around to ensure nobody was within hearing range.

She smiled. "You're such a sweetie."

"Thank you, Mrs. Martin."

I watched through watery eyes as Rebecca and Karl traipsed to their respective vehicles — top-of-the-line models that together had just set me back more than $200,000, not counting the future insurance payments. They each drove off without so much as a glance my way.

At least Rebecca had thanked me multiple times for the pricy present. Karl hadn't said a goddamn thing.

With relentless self-criticism tying me in knots as usual, I drove my Mercedes back to the shitty part of town. Every time I'd glance down and see the jagged burn mark in my leather seat, I'd grit my teeth and hate myself for allowing things to spiral out of control like they had ... and then my resistance would melt, and I'd slip into a sub-space trance, where everything felt so right.

Sure, I'd just dropped a ridiculous amount of cash on my ex-girlfriend and her husband — but $200k was a pittance to me, since I had about $3 million in savings, and my money wasn't doing me any good sitting in the bank, anyway. The amazing, submissive cloud I'd been floating on since embarking on my service to the Martins was priceless. I'd never felt more alive and wanted that to continue. A couple hundred grand was nothing.

I got back to South Sycamore Street and chuckled when I saw Rebecca's Neon still parked in the driveway. Her new SUV was worth 100 times more than that piece of shit, and it dawned on me that Karl had been absolutely right earlier that morning — Rebecca had no business driving a car like that. While I had been thinking the same thing since I'd started serving her, I felt ashamed that Karl had been the first one to say it out loud.