A Tale of Two Maids
Page 8
She laughed and enjoyed how Alyssa's cheeks flamed with heat every time she did so. "You're life is going to
change very quickly."
The woman leapt forward and mashed her lips into his, reaching around to sink her fingers into his soft
bottom. She moaned. "I can't believe you were ever a man. You're so soft!"
Tatiana nibbled on his ear, feeling the shivers run down his body. "He wasn't. Would any real man ever let
someone do this to him?"
Maid Unmade
He lost himself in Miss Lydia's light blue eyes. He was afloat in a world of pleasure as she softly rubbed his
nipples. Her touch was confident but light; he wasn't overwhelmed by the sensations, but somehow it was just
enough to make him want so much more. Her gaze was firm, but reassuring. Her tone was quiet and magical. She
seemed to know just what to say and how to say it.
He realized with a rush that he'd fallen for her.
He never stopped loving Miss Sophia. She was his reason for living, his first Mistress. (Mistress?) Miss
Lydia, however, had wrapped him around her little finger without any effort at all, and he loved her for it. He was
devoted to her. He worshipped her.
He admired her. She was so elegant. He found himself emulating her without meaning to, perhaps just
because he enjoyed being around her so much. He began to hear her crisp, sensual, playful tone departing his own
lips every day, all day. She had a way of standing, a way of holding herself that was so feminine, and it seemed to
soak into his very being until he was holding himself the same way.
Worst of all, she knew exactly when to give him attention and when not, and it was a whole lot of no
attention with a few small special moments of pure joy. He was a flower in the dark, longing for the sunlight of her
smile.
He knelt for her at the door every day and worried that the knees of his light blue stockings would be soiled.
He had to always be clean for her. He made sure he was always pretty. His hair must be brushed just so; his makeup
must be touched up until it was perfect; his uniform must always be clean and well arranged. It's what pleased her. It
seemed unfair that he should serve the guests all day and then come home and serve Miss Lydia all night, but he did,
and she never really told him to or asked him to; he just did. He found that he desperately wanted to make her
happy.
Finally, when she'd finished talking to him, she patted him on the head like a pet and smiled and he
understood his breasts should be tucked back into his pretty top once again. She was finished using them for now.
"Did they bruise you today, Alyssa?"
He no longer felt so utterly dreamy and out of it all the time. He had a clear mind, but he still felt a lot of
uncertainty about what was happening to him. "I . . . I don't know, Miss Lydia. They pinched my bottom a lot. Some
of them really hurt. They pinch so hard. Why do they do that? Why not just kisses and caresses like the other
guests?"
Miss Lydia moved past him, slipped out of her blouse and dropped it on the floor. He hurried to collect it and
fold it. Miss Lydia unzipped her skirt and let it drop down her legs. He waited for her to step out of it. Her legs were
so slender and smooth. Miss Lydia allowed him to rub lotion into them daily, running his hands over her soft skin,
back and forth. Miss Lydia allowed him to shave them for her, too, lathering them up, running the blade across
them, rinsing and moisturizing and kissing. He longed to do those things for her again and again.
"Every expression on a pretty girl's face is a portrait. Expressions of pain are virtually indistinguishable from
expressions of pleasure. Perhaps you tempt them. Perhaps you're bringing it on yourself. Every time you squeal or
pout, it encourages them. Don't you understand that, Alyssa?"
He unconsciously rubbed his bottom and pouted. "But . . . I can't help it." Sometimes, he felt and acted like a
child, because it felt good, because Miss Lydia seemed to enjoy it.
Miss Lydia sat before a mirror. Alyssa rushed to collect her skirt from the floor. Her eyes found his in the
reflection. He felt silly. He felt ridiculous. He felt like crying. She was so beautiful. Her dismissive, impassive
expression made him fidget, made his thighs press together. He wanted her so very badly. "Very well. Let me see."
He turned, lifted his skirt and gathered up his petticoats. His gaffe was a well-designed g-strings and his soft,
womanly rear was suddenly on display, which embarrassed him greatly. Miss Lydia turned and inspected him,
noticing several yellowish bruises. She reached out and pinched one and heard him whimper. She couldn't help but
smile. No wonder certain guests had taken such an interest in his little peach of a bottom.
She turned to the mirror and began to remove her makeup. "That's enough."
He dropped his petticoats and turned to face her with pink cheeks.
"Alyssa, you're obviously enjoying the attention."
Alyssa's jaw dropped. "N-no, Miss Lydia." He shook his head, his blonde curls dancing. Tatiana had made
good on her threat to give him a complete makeover, and she'd been right about its effect on him. When he saw
himself in the mirror now, he didn't see the husband he'd once been. He only saw Alyssa, the pretty little maid with
the blue uniform. He had started connecting with that image, started to recognize himself as her. If his old male face
had suddenly reappeared, he wasn't sure he'd recognize it.
"Then why does it keep happening?"
"Because--because they keep--they keep--"
"A smart girl would stay away from the guests that pinch her bottom . . . if she didn't like it."
"But--but I can't! They call me over, and I have to--"
"A clever girl would avoid their cruel little fingers, unless she liked it."
"But--but--I don't . . . I don't know how--"
"A reasonable girl wouldn't have asked for her blue uniform if she didn't want the attention."
"But--but--" He blinked rapidly, eyes drifting, looking dazed. He was his prettiest when he looked vulnerable
like this, Miss Lydia thought.
"But you're not a smart girl, are you?"
He blinked and blinked. "I--"
"You're not a clever girl by any means. You spend all day acting like a silly, brainless maid."
He blinked. "I--I don't--"
"Look at yourself in the mirror, darling, and tell me what color your little maid's uniform is."
The pretty girl in the glass with the long blonde curls and the wide-eyed, stunned expression gazed back at
him. "It's--it's blue, Miss Lydia."
"It's blue, Alyssa. It's a blue uniform. Blue uniforms are for girls that like attention. Blue uniforms are for
girls that like to be touched, want to be touched, need guests to touch her. Blue uniforms are for girls that like to
tease and tease until the guests can't keep their hands off her. Blue uniforms are for girls that like to be handled.
What color is your uniform, dear?"
Shame faced, cheeks on fire, he dropped his eyes and whispered, "B-blue, Miss Lydia."
Miss Lydia began to whisper as well, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "Do you like the way they look at
you? Do you like the expressions they wear when they see you?"
He nodded. He did like it.
"Say it," she barked softly.
"I . . . I do, Miss Lydia."
"How do they look at you, dear?"
"Like . . . like they want me, like they like me. Some of them--they look at me like--like--I'm not even sure
"Mmhmm, intense gazes, I'm sure. You know what they want though. They want you."
He nodded bashfully, picking at the lace of his restrictive corset, noticing his perfect slender fingers with the
gold nail polish, just like Tatiana wore. "Yes, Miss Lydia." He was looking more and more like her. Twice, guests
had mistaken him for her so far. He was around her so much that some of her behaviors and mannerisms had
become infectious.
"What do they want with you, Alyssa, the ones that frighten you?"
Even quieter, he tried to whisper, unaware of the answer until it left his painted lips. "They--they want. . . ."
Miss Lydia interrupted softly. "Keep looking at yourself, dear. Now . . . what is it they want?"
His eyes snapped back to the pretty blonde in the mirror. He saw himself, herself. "They . . . they want . . .
they look like they want . . . to devour me."
"What good is a pretty toy if you can't play with it?"
He nodded, swallowed, feeling the lure of her gaze again. Somehow, as she always did, she was silently
willing him to stare into her eyes, and every time he did so, he was lost. "Y-yes, Miss Lydia."
"What was your name before it was Alyssa?"
Blinking, he parted his lips to answer, but the name didn't come. It was there, like a silent little wisp of
smoke in his mind, lingering somewhere in the back of his brain but refusing to descend down to the tip of his
tongue. "Oh."
Miss Lydia grinned. "You're such a pretty thing."
The hot water felt good on his hands. He squeezed the sponge over Miss Lydia's beautiful back and glanced
around curiously at the bathroom.
"Hair next and then let's finish up. I have plans for you tonight."
"Yes, Miss Lydia." Shampooing her hair was his chance to make her moan with pleasure. Not that he didn't
get to do that between her legs, but that was always out of his control. With her strong thighs wrapped around his
head and her hands clutching at his head, commanding him, he could only struggle to keep up with her and to give
her what she needed. Massaging her scalp, rinsing out the shampoo, rubbing in the conditioner was a chance to be
tender and sensual with her, to give her pleasure without her demanding it.
Plans? She had plans?
An hour later, she'd dressed him, primped him, polished his feminized body and once again stood him before
the mirror to admire himself. He spent so much time staring at himself now. He couldn't remember what his hair
used to look like, except that he thought it had been short. Now, it was long and blonde with streaks so light they
were almost pink. He knew his face had not been this heart-shaped before, this soft. In fact, he knew his body had
not been this soft before. He had never been this thin, but the corset was like a clutching fist around his waist that
he'd gotten used to, but which also severely limited his appetite.
Standing there in the white baby doll lingerie with the white stockings and the silver heels, he noticed how
thin his arms were, how his waist had been trained to dip inward, giving an even greater roundness to his hips. It was
the breasts though that he found the most alarming. He could no longer believe it was because of the ointment or the
rubbing. He knew now that they'd been feeding him hormones and the hormones had worked. His breasts were full.
He gawked at them as they filled out his lacy little top. They were full and round and perfectly female; the areola
had expanded, the nipples grown large and sensitive, and they were the key to unraveling him. Whenever he showed
the lightest bit of resistance, Miss Lydia would rub his little nipples and talk to him and he'd find his thinking had
changed, feeling in earnest whatever she wanted him to feel.
Why had Miss Sophia done this to him?
He knew the answer, but he couldn't seem to make it make sense. Miss Sophia had explained it, but it still
didn't help matters. He barely saw her anymore. It felt like forever. Once, when he'd been serving a guest in their
room, they'd brushed into one another, but they were too busy to stop and talk. He wanted to throw himself at her
feet and beg her to stay, to talk, to touch him, to come back to Miss Lydia's room with him and just spend time with
him again, but the guest was demanding.
There had only been enough time for Miss Sophia to blush and smile at him and give him the lightest little
pat on his bottom before she was hurrying off once again. There was no doubting her role in her tiny black maid's
uniform.
Even as he was hurrying out of the room, being called away, he'd glimpsed her curtsying before the bed and
giggling at the man laying on it. "Oh! Is that for me, Sir?"
They were having her. Again and again as he once had. They were having her and they were pleasing her
and they were fulfilling her as he had never done. She was in her glory, role-playing with them, serving them, being
used by them, all the things she'd resisted doing with him because it had made him uncomfortable.
Once, he'd seen her in the lounge. Miss Tatiana had just dyed his hair blonde and the mirror had become an
achingly beautiful heartbreaker. Miss Sophia hadn't even spotted him. He stared and stared and tried to make eye
contact, and the one time her eyes had found him, they'd simply roved past him as if he hadn't been there. She hadn't
even recognized him. That was when he'd realized she was no longer in the black uniform; she'd graduated to
yellow. He didn't even know what that meant, but it depressed him horribly.
Miss Lydia snapped her fingers in front of his eyes several times. "Come back now."
He blinked and saw himself, the white teasingly transparent baby doll, the little thong gaffe, his sleek little
body posed just so. He was dressed like a bride on her wedding night, a pretty package waiting to be unwrapped by
hard male hands. What was in store for him?
She'd applied false lashes to his eyes and painted them with smoky gray and rich burgundy. His nails
complemented the deep gleaming red of his lips. He no longer looked sweet and innocent. He looked . . . ready. He
looked like a shiny red apple ready to be picked and devoured.
He gazed at Miss Lydia and she grinned wickedly. Her expression told him everything; it told him, I have
you right where I want you and there's nothing you can do about it.
"Wh-where are we going?" His voice was softer, breathier than he remembered. He suddenly recalled long
hours of listening to audio files, repeating phrases he heard as if learning a new language. He had learned a new
language though, hadn't he? The female language. Except for the change in his tone and pitch, he wondered what
else had changed. Was he choosing different words now? If so, he didn't notice. As with everything Miss Lydia did
to him, it was suddenly natural though it hadn't been natural before.
"You're going to see Miss Sophia, dear."
His heart leapt. She studied him, top to bottom. "You do want to see her, don't you?"
He couldn't begin to describe how badly he wanted to see her. "Yes, yes, oh, yes, Miss Lydia! Thank you!"
Suddenly, he realized he wasn't in uniform. His waist wasn't being compressed; his thighs didn't feel the
familiar tickle of the lace petticoats. He felt out of place and odd like a third thumb. A terrible feeling of dread swept
over him. He actually longed for the familiar embrace of his blue corset and the tickle of his petticoats again. He
needed his blue skirt and his blue stockin
gs. It was cruel to make him go without them.
Miss Lydia swept a curling strand of blonde from his cheek. "Hm. Hold still." She collected a tube from the
counter and pursed her lips. "Pout, sweetie." He stuck out his bottom lip for her and she dabbed it with lip-gloss. She
laughed at him. "You're awfully good at that."
He blushed scarlet and gave her a shallow curtsy. "Yes, Miss Lydia."
She brought him by the hand to the door, but paused. "Are you ready to see Miss Sophia, darling?" The sexy
little baby doll . . . he couldn't go out like this!
Curtsy. Smile. Blush. It was so automatic, he no longer even thought about it. "Yes, Miss Lydia."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you ready to see your wife?"
Curtsy. Smile. Blush. "Yes, Miss Lydia."
She shook her head. "Something's not right."
He blinked. He just wanted to see Miss Sophia. He was ready to go home now. He was ready to go back to
the way things were. He would be better, more daring, more adventurous, but he wanted to be a man again, Miss
Sophia's man with her no longer as a "Miss", but just his wife.
Miss Lydia placed a finger to her lips and tapped. "No. I think we'll have to resort to drastic measures." She
grinned, her eyes sparkling in a way that made him severely nervous. "Come with me."
He followed her to the bedroom and when she pointed to the bed he slid onto it. It wasn't so unusual to be
here with her. He had brought her to one crashing orgasm after another with his mouth and fingers, and his mind
was filled with the memories of her moans, gasps and squirming. He couldn't help the little smile that stole across
his face.
Miss Lydia twirled her finger in the air. "On your hands and knees like a good little doggy."
That was different. He gulped and nodded and maneuvered himself so that he was positioned as she desired.
The baby doll tickled his back and he felt the pull of gravity on his breasts. Miss Lydia pulled his gaffe down his
thighs and for the first time since he could remember, his cock was free.
For a moment, he was certain he had lost the ability to gain an erection. The hormones, the tranquilizers, the
life they'd made him lead had certainly robbed him of any pleasure he might receive through his cock. It hadn't been
touched in ages. Even in the shower he received only the tickle of water and not a single moment of blissful