Duties
A good sissy maid must check his work to detect any problem that he must correct before his Mistress be aware of this.
In a quaint, suburban street, a peculiar figure emerged from the shadows of an unassuming house. The moon cast a pale glow on the delicate lace that adorned his legs, hinting at the layers of black stockings and a maid's dress beneath. His steps were cautious yet practiced, the clack of his high heels against the pavement echoing in the quiet night. Each step was a silent declaration of his submission, a rhythmic reminder of his place in the world he had chosen.
In this world of shadows and submission, he was known as Mistress's Pet. His transformation into a sissy maid had been gradual, a metamorphosis driven by desires he had long kept hidden. Now, with his hair styled in soft curls and his eyes painted with a touch of mascara, he had fully embraced his new identity. The thrill of the illicit filled him as he stepped into the cool evening air, the fabric of his outfit whispering against his skin with every movement.
The house was a sanctuary of discipline and order, a place where his Mistress's word was law. She had instructed him to perform his duties meticulously, and he took pride in his ability to serve her without question. As he approached the bedroom, his heart fluttered with anticipation.
Mistress's Pet pushed open the door, his eyes immediately drawn to the unmade bed. The silk sheets were a tangled mess, a stark contrast to the meticulously organized room. He knew that his Mistress would not tolerate such imperfection. With a sigh, he stepped inside, his heels clicking against the polished wood floor.
As he worked, he couldn't help but imagine his Mistress's satisfaction when she saw the job well done. Her approving smile, the gentle pat on his head, the warmth of her hand as it traced the line of his jaw—these were the rewards that made his efforts worthwhile.
Finally, he stepped back to survey his handiwork. The bed was a picture of order, the pillows standing at attention, the sheets tucked in tightly. His gaze lingered on the black lace trim of the bedspread, a stark reminder of his role.
After finishing his work he checked that his outfit was neat, his dress wrinkle-free, his black stockings adjusted to the correct height and his lingerie peeking just the right amount from under the dress. He knew that any imperfection would not be tolerated by his Mistress. She had a keen eye for detail and took great pleasure in his attentiveness to his appearance. He took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door, his knuckles grazing the cool, polished wood.
His work here was over but he had to continue with the rest of his duties, so with a very feminine swing she turned around and left the room.
In this world of shadows and submission, he was known as Mistress's Pet. His transformation into a sissy maid had been gradual, a metamorphosis driven by desires he had long kept hidden. Now, with his hair styled in soft curls and his eyes painted with a touch of mascara, he had fully embraced his new identity. The thrill of the illicit filled him as he stepped into the cool evening air, the fabric of his outfit whispering against his skin with every movement.
The house was a sanctuary of discipline and order, a place where his Mistress's word was law. She had instructed him to perform his duties meticulously, and he took pride in his ability to serve her without question. As he approached the bedroom, his heart fluttered with anticipation.
Mistress's Pet pushed open the door, his eyes immediately drawn to the unmade bed. The silk sheets were a tangled mess, a stark contrast to the meticulously organized room. He knew that his Mistress would not tolerate such imperfection. With a sigh, he stepped inside, his heels clicking against the polished wood floor.
As he worked, he couldn't help but imagine his Mistress's satisfaction when she saw the job well done. Her approving smile, the gentle pat on his head, the warmth of her hand as it traced the line of his jaw—these were the rewards that made his efforts worthwhile.
Finally, he stepped back to survey his handiwork. The bed was a picture of order, the pillows standing at attention, the sheets tucked in tightly. His gaze lingered on the black lace trim of the bedspread, a stark reminder of his role.
After finishing his work he checked that his outfit was neat, his dress wrinkle-free, his black stockings adjusted to the correct height and his lingerie peeking just the right amount from under the dress. He knew that any imperfection would not be tolerated by his Mistress. She had a keen eye for detail and took great pleasure in his attentiveness to his appearance. He took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door, his knuckles grazing the cool, polished wood.
His work here was over but he had to continue with the rest of his duties, so with a very feminine swing she turned around and left the room.
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