by Tom Tame
Mark was a little confused by the remark, but Sophia just blushed and stammered uncharacteristically. "I--I
suppose I'll have to, won't I?"
Miss Lydia stared hard at Mark's face. Mark felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He didn't know where to look,
but he knew he couldn't meet her gaze. Miss Lydia looked at him as if he were a prized cow at a fair, all meat, all
property. When she spoke it was with a soft tone and clearly not directed at him.
"Have you followed all my instructions, dear?"
Sophia bobbed once and this time merely blushed without giggling or acting surprised. "Yes, Miss Lydia."
Mark wanted to cut and run, throw off the corset, the ridiculous heels, wash off the makeup and make a
break for it. All he had to do was turn and leave. It was that simple. Just go. He would. In just a few seconds, when
the moment was right, he would apologize to Sophia later. He just couldn't do this.
"She turned out prettier than we imagined, didn't she?"
Pretty. Not handsome. Not rugged. Pretty, draped in pink and white lace, stuffed like a sausage into the
corset, hair styled into curls, face painted, nails polished, ruffled petticoats bouncing with every high heeled step. He
had to get out of this. How had he let himself get talked into this? Why had Sophia done this to him?
"He's gorgeous, Miss Lydia." Again Sophia curtsied.
Miss Lydia's gaze drilled into him. He felt his blush deepen. He was at a loss for words, uncertain as to
what she expected. "'She', dear. It's always 'she' from now on. Does she have a name?"
Curtsy, blush, smile. Sophia answered. "I've been calling her 'Alyssa', Miss Lydia."
"Alyssa is a pretty name. Do you like your pretty name, sweetie?"
Mark stammered. He tried meeting her gaze, but it was so sharp, so judging, so forceful, he couldn't hold it
for long. He whispered, "I . . . I think this . . . I can't--"
Miss Lydia smiled. "Would you be a dear and collect that little pink leather clutch from my desk?"
Mark wasn't exactly sure what a clutch was, but he saw a small pink purse on her desk. With a rustle of
petticoats tickling his thighs, he walked over and collected it, fetching it like a trained puppy for Miss Lydia.
She took it with a grin. "She moves very well. She took to her training quite naturally, didn't she?"
Sophia beamed with pride, eyes full of light as she stared at her feminized husband. "It was the ballet, I
think."
"Mm, yes, the yoga helps train the muscles, but it's the ballet that conditions a girl to move with grace."
Miss Lydia unzipped the pink clutch and pulled out two small bottles of pills. One at a time, she opened
them and dropped pills into her hand, pills that she then held up to Mark. "For you, dear."
He shook his head and felt the bounce of his curls on his neck and cheeks. "Oh, no, I already took some this
morning."
Miss Lydia's gaze and upheld hand never wavered. "These are much better, much stronger. Would you
mind starting them now?"
Mark squirmed. "P-perhaps I could start them tomorrow?"
What had happened to his assertiveness? He'd been stronger than this before. Dressing this way, listening to
Sophia had sapped his resolved. He wanted to refuse the pills, but instead he only seemed to question them.
Miss Lydia's smile was enigmatic, as if she knew something Mark did not, as if he were a mere child that
did not understand the world. Her eyes were soft with love as she reached up and touched his cheek tenderly,
whispering the words, "Pretty thing."
He heard the click of his heels on the floor and the rustle of his dress. Sophia walked beside him. He felt the
warmth of her hand in his. "That went very well," she said.
He stumbled.
Sophia stopped and looked curiously at him. "How are you feeling?"
He peered blankly around the hallway. "Where--where are we going?"
Sophia laughed. "To our dorm. We have the evening to ourselves. Tomorrow we start working."
Mark let out as big breath as he could manage. He still felt lightheaded. "Thank God. I can't wait to get out
of this corset."
Sophia shook her head and wagged her finger at him. "Oh, no, you know the rules. The corset and the heels
remain on."
Her tone was so matter-of-fact, so stern, that on a whim, Mark curtsied and said, "Yes, Miss Sophia."
They froze and stared at each other. Sophia broke out in giggles. "Cute."
Mark blushed like a fever and laughed with her. Of course he was just being cute. Before they
could make it to their room, he was already feeling blissful and dreamy. There was even a little warm rush that
spread through him like a waterfall cascading inside him fed by hot springs. He was warm and gooey inside. He
smiled softly. The pressure between his legs was so reassuring. His nipples twitched and tingled and begged to be
touched. His lips began to tingle as well.
In bed, Sophia cuddled up to him and began to slowly rub his nipples, whispering wonderful things to him.
He couldn't remember what she said, except the phrase she seemed to repeat again and again. "Miss Lydia says . . .
Miss Lydia says . . . Miss Lydia says. . . ."
What a wonderful day it turned out to be.
A Maid's Work is Never Done
Tatiana had golden hair and a golden smile. Her lips were neutral, but still shimmered. Her dazzling green
eyes swam in pools of gold and yellow, but were heavily lined with charcoal, giving her a sexy "I know what you
want" look. Everything she did was drenched in sensuality. Her movements were purposefully feline. Her lips were
always parted just so. The way she held herself, the way she used her rather bosom to naturally draw attention to
herself, the way she peered out at everyone from beneath her long, dark lashes, it was all designed with a purpose,
and the purpose was clear. Want me.
Before Mark could stutter a single syllable, Tatiana's lips were on his, pressing, gliding across them. Their
lipsticks smeared on one another with a greasy slip and when their lips broke with a tacky smack, Tatiana smiled,
fluttered her long eyelashes and touched the smeared lipstick of her bottom lip with the golden polished fingernail of
her pinky. She licked her lips as if she'd just had her first taste of sweet cream.
"Miss Lydia says you be a good girl for me. This is true, da?"
From that moment on, Mark was utterly enthralled with her. He nodded slowly and Tatiana spun him
around by his shoulders and gave him a little swat on his bottom. "Good. We fix faces now."
Tatiana joined him at the mirror and began at once to correct him, showing him the proper way to apply
lipstick. "Men like to watch us watch ourselves. We check faces every half hour, and we make show of it."
Every thirty minutes? He couldn't imagine stopping to look at himself that often during the day.
"Check dress. Smooth dress like this, da? Check stockings. Pinch and fix, pull up thighs. See?"
He did see and the pressure between his legs not only increased to mammoth proportions, but it began to
pulse like a burgeoning volcano. Had he--had he just wet himself? He could just feel something cold and slippery in
his gaffe. Had he just oozed precum from just the sight of Tatiana straightening her stockings?
He had to get out of here, because soon he found himself emulating her, standing sideways in the mirror to
smooth his pink uniform down his tummy, hoisting up his little breasts, bending over to straighten his fishnets. He
was the perfect picture of female vanity and the image in the m
irror so delighted him that he felt the trap of it closing
around his mind once again.
The pills didn't help. They were traps in themselves. Whatever assertiveness he'd had was simply nowhere to
be found. It was like reaching for your keys and finding only an empty pocket. The pills sapped his ability to resist
taking the pills, and Miss Lydia was right: they were strong. They were so powerful that only a few minutes after
swallowing them, he'd felt empty headed and light. He smiled at everything and felt oh so agreeable. The pills made
him soft, inside and out. When he laughed, he giggled almost uncontrollably. When he was afraid, he leaked tears
miserably.
That had just been this morning. Whatever gates he'd once had to regulate his emotions were simply gone
now.
He'd wept when Sopia left. Her trainer, a beautiful young maid with green eyes and flaming red hair, had
collected her. The girl wore a black uniform, which frightened Mark, because it meant that Sophia was being trained
to have sex with other men. She would leave him, wouldn't she? He was being turned into a girl and she would soon
look for a real man, because what real man would allow himself to be turned into a girl? They were separated and it
was horrible, but the moment Tatiana had shown up, everything had changed.
Tatiana wore a black uniform, too. What did that mean for him?
She inspected Mark's makeup and made a few little touch ups before pronouncing him ready. Then she told
him to lift his face slightly. "Hold still."
He did so, gazing deeply into her perfect green eyes, only just noticing then how her golden eye-shadow
glittered ever so slightly. Tatiana gave his cheeks a hard little pinch. He winced. "Hold still," she repeated.
Then, without warning, she slapped his cheek rather hard, first one side then the other. After the shock wore
off, tears began to well in his eyes, but Tatiana pointed a long gold fingernail at him. "Hold still and do not cry."
She ordered it and somehow he obeyed. He wasn't sure how he prevented the tears from drizzling down and
ruining his mascara, but he did.
Beautiful Tatiana. Brutal Tatiana. Cold Tatiana who he would soon learn could control him with just a
glance.
She gave his cheeks several lighter slaps and smiled. "Good. Dovol'no. You are pretty now. The wounded
beauty draws men to feel big and strong around us, see?"
He didn't want men feeling anyway around him.
Tatiana marched away, her heels hammering the floor, but somehow her hips still swung, her legs still
whipped like willows and she still oozed sex.
Mark hurried after her, feeling more and more like her obedient puppy.
Where was Sophia? He worried about her or at least he tried to, because the pills scattered his thoughts until
he felt like having thoughts was just the silliest idea.
In the rooms, Tatiana flirted with the guests, giggled and smiled and curtsied for them, sometimes even
crawling into bed with them. She kissed the men. Sometimes she kissed the women, too. Towards them she was
sweet and sexy and sly, but towards Mark she was a tyrant, snapping her fingers. "Dust that." Clapping her hands
twice to call him. "Did you not hear? Orange juice and a Bloody Mary. Quickly." Talking about him as if were too
simple minded to understand. "Silly thing must be told every second what to do."
In the courtyard, the world's elite and wealthy relaxed and visited. The division was clear. They were the
kings and queens and all the others were mere servants. Maids came and went, maids just like Tatiana. When they
were not with a guest (or several), they scurried back and forth, cleaning, fetching, dusting, straightening, but always
looking their best, checking their faces in mirrors and compacts, reapplying their lipstick, ensuring their frilly
uniforms were straight and perfect. When they were with a guest, they giggled like little girls, blushed and flirted
and made themselves as tempting as possible.
Watching how they behaved, being treated by the guests as if he were nothing but a pretty doll to be played
with, a pretty servant to fetch things, being dressed the way he was, his thoughts sapped by the pills, he found
himself behaving the same way. It was almost natural. It was truly irresistible, and having Tatiana boss him around
constantly didn't help.
Somewhere in his mind, he knew he should be unhappy. He knew he should be angry and upset about the
way Tatiana belittled him, but instead the pressure between his legs--his poor trapped cock--just pulsed and pulsed
with delight. The more it happened, the easier he found it to obey her and before long he was snapping into one
quick curtsy after another and rushing off to fetch whatever she demanded. The colder she was to him, the more his
body betrayed him with tingles of delight. The more useless and worthless she made him feel, the deeper he felt the
desire to please her.
He had to stop it. He had to make a stand. It took him most of the day to build up the courage, and it took
Tatiana only a second to crush him.
She snapped her fingers, still smiling and blushing at a man and woman in their lounge chairs. "Cocktails,
now."
He curtsied automatically and turned to fetch them, but managed to stop himself.
The man raised an eyebrow and drew Tatiana's gaze back toward Mark.
The woman whispered, "I think she's defying you, dear."
Tatiana grinned, and it was a grin that struck deep into Mark's soul. It was the grin of someone who knew
something you didn't. It was the grin of someone who'd watched you move a chess piece and understood, even if
you didn't, that they'd just won the game. " Vosstaniye. First day. They do this on their first day always." She
whipped her head back to her guests and closed her eyes and put on a haughty smile. "Easily to be dealt with."
Petticoats bouncing, breasts bouncing, Tatiana walked purposefully like a runway model over to Mark. He
prepared himself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him close and instantly he was drunk on her
scent. Her perfume, her hair, her beauty simply unraveled him. She kissed him deeply and the pang of her passion
ran like a jolt of lightning down his spine. He melted for her. He fell in love for her. Their lips broke with a quiet
smack and Tatiana whispered in his ear, "I am being mean to you, da?"
She let one hand fall from his neck to her breast. Her fingers found his nipple through his top and began to
rub it lightly in small circles. Instantly, he thought, No fair, because he couldn't help responding to her. He felt
weepy. He felt weak. He felt guilty. He felt ashamed. Softly, he whispered, "Y-yes."
With a hand in Mark's curls, Tatiana jerked his head back and gazed down at him like an imperious queen.
"Why? This you should ask. Why am I mean to you?"
The slap came out of nowhere. It stung his cheek and left him in a state of shock. Her eyes trapped him, but
he also felt the eyes of the man and the woman on him. It was a revelation then that humiliation was always
magnified tenfold when there were witnesses.
Tears drizzled down his cheeks. He was close to breaking down into utter sobs when Tatiana pressed her lips
again into his. This kiss, deep and passionate, left him breathless and bereft of thought. His cheek still stung, but his
nipples twitched. His emotions were in a competitive whirlwind; he didn't know how to feel and so he was left
feeling everything and nothing all at once. When the kiss broke, he opened his eyes
, cheeks burning hot, mascara
running. Her eyes were green and bottomless, and in them he saw that somehow she knew he would do anything she
asked. "I am mean to you," she whispered, "because they enjoy seeing me be mean to you."
The woman called from her chair. "Speak up, please. We can't hear!"
Tatiana whipped her head toward the woman and gave her a defiant smile.
In Mark's ear, she whispered, "You enjoy it, too." Tatiana's hand slipped beneath his skirt and petticoats,
between his legs and gave his pulsing, trapped cock a warm stroke. It was the last straw. His knees buckled and he
leaned heavily against Tatiana's soft body. He moaned in surrender. Tatiana's utterly female body and his feminized
body were both compressed in the breathless corsets, but now her warmth and the tickle of her whisper on his neck
had stolen the last molecule of oxygen from his brain.
The man barked. "You, girl. Come over here. Now."
He was dizzy and certain he would faint.
Tatiana whispered with a grin. "Now they will take me and break me and make me theirs, see? They wish to
turn tables and put me in my place. Stay here and be good girl, da?"
He nodded helplessly, sniffling.
With a grin, Tatiana turned and gave them a formal curtsy, holding her skirt out and bending her knee with
one heel placed delicately behind the other. "As you wish, Sir."
She sauntered toward them in her sexy, feline way. When she was finally standing before them, she bowed
her head and nodded as they fussed at her. She pouted. She huffed. She tried to explain but was cut short each time.
Finally, the couple stood and marched away with her in the middle. The man's hand fell beneath her skirt and held
on tight to her ass, his fingers digging deep into her flesh.
Before Mark could collect his thoughts, a man nearby snapped his fingers. "Here. Girl. Bring us towels."
He curtsied with a "Yes, Sir," and ran to comply.
From that point forward he had not a moment to himself. When he wasn't fetching drinks for the guests, he
was picking up empty glasses and wiping down the small tables. The guests kept him on his toes, and they seemed
to delight in bossing him around. They seemed to enjoy watching him scurrying to meet their demands.
The rare times when someone noticed him was less of an acknowledgement and more of an amused smirk.