The Demotion Ch. 03

The other girl, stunning and with similar complexion, chimed in. "Eventually you'll stop bothering with the bra. They designed the uniform to support your tits."

"That's convenient," I replied. I was skeptical of these women. Particularly of the brash way in which they spoke. "By the way was there a sale on the same kind of pantie?"

Diwa cut me off by pressing herself against my back and pressing her hand against my naval. She pushed be back such that my ass was grinding up against her.

"Why do you ask, Lyka? Do you like what you see?"

Something about the way she gave me a nickname made me feel small and submissive. It was as if I was a cat that she had adopted and given a new name. It might as well have been 'Ms. Fluffy' or 'Mittens.' This nurse--this hot, bombshell nurse whose ass I couldn't stop staring at--had been bossing me around all day, demonstrating her authority over me. She forced me into menial tasks, she forced me into a kiss, she gave me the first orgasm I'd had in a while, and now, it seemed like she was renaming me.

I exhaled sharply, barely able to speak. The girls--I later learned that their names were Ligaya and Amihan--giggled and looked at me with devilish grins. Despite myself, I arched my back and pressed myself into her. Had she pulled my panties down right then and there, I would have lacked the ability (or desire) to stop her.

"Yes, Diwa," I confessed.

"What was that?" Diwa slowly ran her hand down my navel and toward my groin. I knew what she wanted to hear.

"Oo, ako'y." I knew extraordinarily little Tagalog, and I was sure that my pronunciation was terrible, but I believed that this meant, 'Yes, Ma'am."

"There's a good girl." Diwa turned my so that I was against the locker and pressed me forward. I pressed both of my hands against the locker to steady myself. This allowed me to push my ass out farther and arch my back more. With her other hand, Diwa wrapped her middle and ring fingers under my ass and between my legs. Her hand that was on my groin slowly traced its way up to my chest.

"Just a juicy bubble you have back here, Lyka!" Diwa then addressed Ligaya and Amihan, "Girls, give us some privacy."

I was too preoccupied to pay attention to the giggling whispers and the patter of bare feet while Ligaya and Amihan quickly dressed and left the locker room. It was just me and Diwa now. But frankly, I could have been in the middle of a crowded street and I wouldn't have cared. My mind was so deep into 'subspace'--a term that Diwa would later teach me.

Diwa stepped to my side so that she could get a better grip on my ass. I prided myself on my firm ass and hips. But my flesh gave way to her hands. Her fingers had the strength of one who worked hard for a living. Her hands found their way to my chest, gently caressing around my breasts.

"You've been such a good girl for me today, Lyka."

I shuddered and leaned my head into her face. I wanted her body up against mine.

"Doing chores, learning the language, doing what I asked. Such a good girl."

"O-Oo, ako'y." I could barely speak.

"That's a good girl." She didn't directly touch my clit. Instead, she had her middle finger on top of the hood, applying pressure and rolling her finger up and down. It was close enough in proximity that I could feel the ecstatic pressure, but the sensation wasn't overpowering. She wanted to tease me for just a moment before I climaxed.

"Do you know what 'Lyka' means, Love?"

"N-n-n-no!" I was putty in her capable hands. Anyone could have walked in to see me bent up against a locker with Diwa playing my body like a violin. I didn't care. I was an instrument in Diwa's hands. And Diwa was a maestro.

"It means 'pretty face.' That's the first thing I noticed about you when you first walked through those hospital doors. I thought, 'Wow, what a beautiful face for me to look at. What a beautiful face for me to kiss. What a beautiful face for me to sit on.'"

My body convulsed. My knees buckled and my face pressed against the locker. My elbows bent forward such that my entire forearms were against the locker. My body flexed repeatedly under Diwa's powerful but sensitive touch.

"Woah," Diwa laughed, "Again, you get there so quickly! Have you always been that way?"

"N-no" I could barely speak as I still rode the climax to its conclusion.

"You must be really into this then. I knew that you were a sub from the moment we met. This clearly comes naturally to you, Lyka."

I didn't want to admit it, but she was right. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but my sexual satisfaction dropped dramatically since becoming a doctor. Part of the reason I broke up with my ex-boyfriend--an insurance analyst who supported me through med school--was that he just didn't satisfy me anymore. But something about a person exercising authority over me brought me right to that edge. Something about not having a real choice in the matter.

Diwa opened my locker, grabbed my yoga pants, and thrust them in my direction. "Let's not keep Dr. Ramos waiting any longer, Love. Get dressed and let's get going."

I dressed quickly and followed Diwa out of the hospital. Dr. Ramos was waiting in a vintage, shiny red convertible. The car looked antique, but I could tell that he had restored and repainted it. Dr. Ramos sat casually with his right hand on the steering wheel and his left hand on the car door. He looked up at us casually over a pair of aviators.

Diwa opened the back door and beckoned me in. I expected her to ride in the front, but she bent down and pushed me to the side, sliding into the seat next to me.

"The front seat is for Dr. Ramos and his wife," Diwa leaned over and whispered in my ear, "a kasambahay sits in the back."

I didn't know what a 'kasambahay' was, and I didn't ask. I just sat there, quiet, and compliant, as Dr. Ramos drove to my hotel.

"Might as well grab everything," Dr. Ramos sounded impatient as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, "Diwa, be a good girl and help Lyka pack her things." Diwa giggled at 'good girl.'

"Yes, Dr. Ramos." I noticed that every time Diwa spoke directly to Dr. Ramos, her voice dripped with a sultry tone. She sounded like a porn star in one of those godawful casting couch videos.

I also noticed that this was the first time that Dr. Ramos had referred to me as 'Lyka.' I wondered whether he just heard Diwa calling me that and assumed that it was my preferred name. Or whether that name his idea in the first place.

Diwa and I scurried up to my hotel and quickly shoved clothes into my luggage. I was more than a little embarrassed as Diwa held up my bras and panties one at a time before putting them away.

"Tsk tsk tsk, Lyka," Diwa clicked her tongue as she examined each piece, "we need to get you some more flattering outfits!"

At the bottom of my underwear drawer, Diwa found my passport. I saw her take it out of the drawer and put it in a small pocket under her waistband.

"Hey," I said, "I'll need that to get back to the states!"

Diwa put her hand on my cheek, "Don't worry your pretty little head, Hun. I'm just going to hold onto this for safekeeping. We don't want it to get lost in the shuffle!"

That was the last time I ever saw my passport.

With bags in hand, Diwa and I descended the hotel steps and through the lobby. Before I walked out the door, I turned to see Diwa handing a small wad of bills to the concierge and murmur something. The concierge nodded and put the cash in his pocket.

We loaded the trunk and slid back into the backseat. It was less than twenty minutes before we were far outside the bounds of civilization.

"When you said, 'in the country,'" I muttered to Diwa, "you weren't kidding."

"It's a lovely part of the world," Dr. Ramos said front of me, "my family and I are lucky to live in the house we have." He quickly turned his head to wink and flash a devious smile at me. "We're really going to enjoy having you."

Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of an enormous, plantation style mansion. Thick, white pillars lined the enormous porch. Engraving of small lions decorated the dark, wooden double doors. The property itself seemed to stretch on for acres.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Dr. Ramos chuckled as he got out of the car. Diwa and I slid out of the back, grabbed my luggage from the trunk, and followed Dr. Ramos in his wake.

As we approached the porch, a stunning woman opened the doors to let us in. Mr. Ramos's wife was one of the most beautiful women I'd seen. At 5'7", she stood head and shoulders above me. A bright yellow sundress contrasted her lean, dark figure. She was barefoot, but I could see that she'd painted her toes a lovely shade of yellow. The shade matched her dress exactly. Her rich, mahogany hair was tied back with a matching yellow ribbon. She clearly put effort into looking good for her husband. And she succeeded.

"My love," her voice dripped with the same sultry tone that Diwa used when speaking to Dr. Ramos.

Dr. Ramos and his wife embraced and kissed deeply for several moments. I looked awkwardly at Diwa, who stared at the couple like a robot with her usual, uncannily serene smile. What the hell was going on here?

Dr. Ramos's wife looked to be in her early twenties--probably half his age. Less maybe. As Dr. Ramos held her in his arms, his hand pulled in her dress at her lower back. I could tell that she had a firm, shapely ass. Her breasts--like Diwa's--were suspiciously large compared to her frame. I wondered if Dr. Ramos had performed the breast augmentations on both women himself. Indeed, I wondered if he was the one behind the oversized breasts hanging in front of most of the hospital's nurses.

After Dr. Ramos released her from his kiss, the wife looked at me with her own uncannily serene smile. "You must be Janet," she took my hand in hers, "it's so good to meet you. My husband has told me so much about you."

I didn't know what Dr. Ramos could have told his wife about me. I had known the man for the entirety of two days. One of which occurred after he last saw her.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Ramos."

I expected her to reply with the usual polite, 'Please, call me [first name].' But she didn't. I later learned that she expected both Diwa and I to refer to her and her husband as 'Mrs. Ramos' and 'Dr. Ramos.' Or in the alternative, 'Sir' and 'Ma'am'.

Diwa and I carried my bags inside as Mrs. Ramos led us up a grand, central staircase. The staircase was made of a rich, dark wood and lined with aged, crimson carpet down the middle. This house looked old and regal. From the mezzanine, Mrs. Ramos led us to a narrow hall, then down and toward a door.

"This is our room!" Diwa chimed in a singsong voice.

"Our room?" I had assumed that I was getting my own room. Conspicuously, there was only one bed in the shabby little room. And it was not a large bed. I could already tell that we would be sleeping cozily together. The room looked like it had been built as servants' quarters. One small window overlooked the grassy, agrarian expanse.

Diwa set my bags against a wall. "Frankly Hun, we're going to need to get you a new wardrobe. Most of what I saw just won't do."

"What's wrong with what I brought?" I was taken aback by her comments.

Diwa started to undress. "Instead of paying rent, you and I will need to do the cleaning for Dr. and Mrs. Ramos. And part of the job is to dress in a way that makes Dr. Ramos happy!"

Standing fully naked in front of her closet, Diwa's breasts bounced and swung slightly as she dug through her outfits. What she pulled out shocked me.

"Wait, no," I protested, "You have got to be kidding. Is that a French maid uniform? How old is that? And where did you even get that?"

The uniform that hung from Diwa's outstretched arm looked like something out of an old movie. It didn't look like a piece of lingerie or a fetish outfit--it was much too modest and old fashioned. But the black ruffled skirt looked like it would come well above the knees. And the underlying white petticoats pushed the hem up even farther. Bending over in that would leave little to the imagination. A white apron hung loosely around the front above the skirt. The bustier looked to be tailored to Diwa's tight waist and... generous... bust.

"L-look, Diwa. That probably wouldn't even fit me!"

"Sure," Diwa replied, "It might be a little loose on your chest. For now." I gulped. "But you have a great figure! This will look amazing on you. And our job is to make Dr. Ramos happy. At work or after work. You want to make Dr. Ramos happy, right?"

"Well, sure but..."

"Then that settles it! You put this one on. I have another buried in here somewhere. We'll be matching! That's sure to put a smile on Dr. Ramos's face. Now be a good girl and take those yoga pants off."

As I disrobed, Diwa retrieved her own uniform and stepped into the skirt and petticoats. After pulling them up, she retrieved sheer, white stockings from a drawer and pulled them up her legs. She lifted the skirt and petticoats as she pulled up and a garter belt, fastening a small clasp to each of the stockings. She then handed me the bustier.

"I'll need your help putting this on, Lyka."

The maid uniform's maker seemingly designed the thing to make its wearer feel helpless and weak. To tighten and fasten the bustier, another person had to tighten and tie it from the back. I assumed that Mrs. Ramos must have helped Diwa fasten hers before I arrived. But to contain Diwa's massive chest in the tight bustier, I had to repeatedly pull two strings then move up to pull another set of strings. And I had to pull harder than I was comfortable with.

"God," I said as I tightened each set, "how do you breathe in this thing?"

"You get used to it," Diwa dismissed me with a laugh, "Beauty is pain, right?"

Several minutes later, Diwa was fully in her little maid uniform. The bustier was in no way low-cut, but her enormous breasts still bulged out of the top. I couldn't help but stare as she spun around, examining herself in her full-length mirror.

"Uh, my eyes are up here, Lyka." Diwa interrupted my gawking with a stifled giggle. "Your turn!"

Diwa helped me put on the skirt and petticoats and to tie the apron behind my back. She showed me how to put on the garter and attach it to the sheer white stockings. The garter was tight and--along with the stockings--forced me to take small, delicate steps.

Diwa turned me around and slid the bustier over my head. I noticed that, because of how high the sides went up below my armpits, I couldn't comfortably set my arms down at my side. The outfit would force me to prance around in short steps, flaring my aims out like little doll. She told me to exhale as she tightened each of the strings.

"Shouldn't I inhale? Like, so that I can breathe even after you tighten it?"

"You're here to be seen," Diwa grunted as she pulled another string tight behind me, "You're not here for your athletic performance, Love. And besides, you don't have to move fast anyway. If Dr. Ramos calls me over, he enjoys the sight of me pitter pattering toward him. No reason to rush that."

So, I was just some piece of ass for Dr. Ramos to gawk at. Great.

After the piece was finished, Diwa retrieved two thin, white bonnets. She put the first into her hair and neatly tied the back. She then put the second on me and did the same. The white fabric of the bonnet accented our dark hair. It felt strange being two Asian women in the Southeast Asian country, wearing a colonial symbol of servitude. I wondered whose idea was it that Diwa should wear this every day.

"What function exactly do these serve?" I asked sarcastically.

Diwa swatted at my behind. "Stop that! You know they don't, Silly! But your hair looks magnificent."

Finally, adding insult to injury in this ridiculous outfit, Diwa pulled two pairs of matching, black Mary Jane shoes from a shelf.

"Seriously?" I'd had enough. "These look exactly like the Mary Janes that we have to wear with our nurse uniforms. Is Dr. Ramos a foot guy?"

"First," Diwa started to sound annoyed at my incredulity, "We don't question Dr. Ramos. Second, no: he's more of an ass, hips, and breasts guy. He also likes thick, full lips on a woman. Third, whatever kind of 'guy' he is, you need to be what he wants in a woman. Do you want to go back to living in that dingy hotel forever?"

"Well, no."

"And I'm guessing that on the pittance of a salary they give us, you were already burning through cash just to live there?"

"I mean, sort of, but I figured it would just be temporary."

"Sure, Lyka. I thought it would be temporary too before I fell in love with the country. But if you don't shape up, then you'll be living in a shack somewhere. Be grateful that he lets you live in his big, beautiful house. Now be a good girl and put these on!"

A few minutes later, I was following Diwa around Dr. Ramos's enormous house in a ridiculous maid outfit. I could barely breathe. Consequently, I couldn't move very far or fast without stopping to catch my breath. And our black Mary Jane shoes sent a resonating 'click clack' through the halls. Diwa might as well have put cow bells on us--we weren't going to be sneaking up on anyone. Dr. Ramos and his wife would be able to tell exactly what part of the house we were in. I felt like a cat with a bell collar so that her owner could keep tabs on her.

The bustier forced me to keep my upper arms up and flared out as I moved and cleaned. I wondered if this was why the servant girls in old movies always had their arms out like little dolls on display. Further, the uniform's garter restricted me to short, delicate steps. I also wondered whether these were intentional design choices in the uniform. Both Diwa and I were walking around with our arms slightly out, taking short, quick steps like ballet dancers. And letting everyone in the house know where we were as our shoes tapped against the hardwood floor. We looked and sounded ridiculous.

"Take the duster to the top of all of the hall tables and dressers," Diwa instructed. "I'll get the undersides of the furniture."

I couldn't tell if it was intentional, but Diwa gave me a show as she bent under the furniture with her duster. Her ample ass pointed in my direction as she bent down. I didn't understand why she didn't just bend at the knees; wouldn't that have been easier on her back? And the petticoats pushed her skirt out such that I got a peak at her ass every time she bent far enough. Her ample cheeks swallowed that thin white thong. I found myself staring much more than I cared to admit.

"Ladies," Dr. Ramos's voice bellowed at us from down a hallway, "I can see that you're hard at work!"

Diwa was fully bent at the waist when she turned and giggled, "Just trying to show our gratitude, Dr. Ramos!"

As he walked toward us, I couldn't help but to notice how handsome he was outside of work. His tie was loosened and wrapped around the back of his neck. The top half of the buttons of his shirt were undone. He was holding a glass of scotch with two large ice cubes. He stopped and admired the show that Diwa gave as she dusted the underside of a hall table.

Dr. Ramos nudged me with his elbow. "I could see that you're enjoying the view too, Lyka?"

Shit. He'd seen me checking out Diwa's ass.

"Diwa, I'm worried that you'll bump your head like that. Here, let me help you work from your knees."

Dr. Ramos held Diwa's hand as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him and next to the table.

"There," he continued, "and now I have another table for my drink!"

Still holding the drink, he rested it on top of Diwa's head just behind her white bonnet. I would have been livid at the gesture--using someone as personal furniture while they knelt in front of him seemed profoundly rude. But Diwa just giggled uncontrollably as if Dr. Ramos had told the funniest joke she'd heard all week.