Maid gretting
A good sissy maid must learn to greet to his mistress in a submissive manner. That is the correct way.
In a small, dimly-lit apartment, a figure moved with quiet grace, ensuring every corner was pristine. The figure's reflection in the gleaming surfaces revealed a slender frame draped in a black maid's dress that clung to their curves like a second skin, the hem brushing against the tops of their black pantyhose. The dress was cinched at the waist by a crimson corset that pushed their chest up, creating a delicate silhouette of submission.
The Mistress had rules, and one of the most important was that thesissy maid must always be ready to greet her with the utmost reverence whenever she arrived home.
The sound of the door unlocking echoed through the corridor, sending a tremor of excitement down the sissy maid's spine. The anticipation was palpable, a cocktail of fear and exhilaration that tightened their stomach. This was the moment they lived for and dreaded in equal measure—the moment when their Mistress would inspect their handiwork and judge their worthiness.
The sissy maid dropped the dust cloth and tiptoed to the entryway, their heart racing. They had to be perfect. The Mistress would expect nothing less. They took a deep, steadying breath and composed their face into an expression of welcoming servitude, their pink lips curling into a submissive smile. The door swung open, and there she stood—the woman who owned their very soul.
"Welcome home, Mistress," the sissy maid murmured, dropping into a low curtsy. The floorboards creaked under the pressure of their knees, and the hem of their dress fluttered up, revealing the tops of their black stockings. Their eyes remained fixed on the floor, waiting for the Mistress's response. The air was thick with the scent of leather and authority.
The Mistress stepped in, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. She wore a sharp business suit, the fabric whispering against her powerful legs as she walked. The sissy maid could feel her gaze sweep over the room, scrutinizing every inch of their work. The Mistress's eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt a bead of sweat form on their brow.
"Look at me," the Mistress said, her voice a velvet command. The sissy maid obeyed, raising their eyes to meet hers. The Mistress's irises were a piercing blue, like shards of ice that could cut through any pretense or doubt. Alex felt their cheeks warm under her scrutiny, their breath hitching in their throat.
"Your dress is wrinkled," the Mistress observed, a hint of disapproval in her tone. The sissy maid's heart sank. They had been so careful, so eager to please. "You know better than this," she continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Now, let's see if the rest of the apartment is as disappointing."
The sissy maid scrambled to their feet, the clack of their high heels echoing through the space. They followed the Mistress on unsteady legs, their mind racing with fear and a desperate hope that the rest of the evening would go without incident. Little did they know, this was only the beginning of a night that would push their limits and test their resolve as a sissy maid.
The Mistress had rules, and one of the most important was that thesissy maid must always be ready to greet her with the utmost reverence whenever she arrived home.
The sound of the door unlocking echoed through the corridor, sending a tremor of excitement down the sissy maid's spine. The anticipation was palpable, a cocktail of fear and exhilaration that tightened their stomach. This was the moment they lived for and dreaded in equal measure—the moment when their Mistress would inspect their handiwork and judge their worthiness.
The sissy maid dropped the dust cloth and tiptoed to the entryway, their heart racing. They had to be perfect. The Mistress would expect nothing less. They took a deep, steadying breath and composed their face into an expression of welcoming servitude, their pink lips curling into a submissive smile. The door swung open, and there she stood—the woman who owned their very soul.
"Welcome home, Mistress," the sissy maid murmured, dropping into a low curtsy. The floorboards creaked under the pressure of their knees, and the hem of their dress fluttered up, revealing the tops of their black stockings. Their eyes remained fixed on the floor, waiting for the Mistress's response. The air was thick with the scent of leather and authority.
The Mistress stepped in, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. She wore a sharp business suit, the fabric whispering against her powerful legs as she walked. The sissy maid could feel her gaze sweep over the room, scrutinizing every inch of their work. The Mistress's eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt a bead of sweat form on their brow.
"Look at me," the Mistress said, her voice a velvet command. The sissy maid obeyed, raising their eyes to meet hers. The Mistress's irises were a piercing blue, like shards of ice that could cut through any pretense or doubt. Alex felt their cheeks warm under her scrutiny, their breath hitching in their throat.
"Your dress is wrinkled," the Mistress observed, a hint of disapproval in her tone. The sissy maid's heart sank. They had been so careful, so eager to please. "You know better than this," she continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Now, let's see if the rest of the apartment is as disappointing."
The sissy maid scrambled to their feet, the clack of their high heels echoing through the space. They followed the Mistress on unsteady legs, their mind racing with fear and a desperate hope that the rest of the evening would go without incident. Little did they know, this was only the beginning of a night that would push their limits and test their resolve as a sissy maid.
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