Hurry up maid
"Hurry up, sissy maid," the voice of a young girl echoed through the grand, empty hallways of the mansion. The words bounced off the polished mahogany and marble surfaces, creating an eerie sense of urgency. In one of the many vacant rooms, a figure in a black maid's outfit flinched at the sound, their delicate hands trembling as they held a dust cloth over an antique sideboard.
The maid was a boy, or at least, he used to be. The frilly maid's dress hugged his now-curvy figure, thanks to the petticoats and the tight, restrictive corset beneath. The sheer white pantyhose stretched over his legs, which were now smoother than the day he was born, and ended at his ankles, revealing the shiny black high heels that pinched with every step he took. His face, once rough and masculine, now bore the soft features of a young lady, thanks to the makeup caked onto his skin and the subtle yet effective hormone treatments administered by his new family.
The fear in the girl's voice grew more palpable as he heard the sound of her footsteps getting closer. The sissy maid knew he had been dawdling for too long. His mistress was a stern woman with very particular tastes, and she expected nothing less than perfection from her staff, especially from her newest addition. If he didn't finish the dusting and make it back to the library in time to complete his homework, there would be hell to pay.
He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself, his heart racing in his chest as he placed the dust cloth down. The clock on the wall chimed the half-hour, reminding him that he had already used up too much time. He had to move quickly, yet maintain his dainty, ladylike composure. The dress and heels made it difficult, but he had been practicing. With a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, he picked up his skirt and began to run, the heels clicking on the cold floor like a metronome keeping time with his panic.
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