Learning the hard way
This sissy maid looks so sad. Maybe he said something inappropriate to his Mistress, and ended gagged and chained in a corner. He will learn to obey and respect his Mistress all the time the hard way.
A sissy maid was clad in a black maid dress that ended just above his knees, revealing sheer black pantyhose. His wrists were adorned with frilly long lace gloves, and his feet were squeezed into a pair of uncomfortable black high heels. His hair was styled into a neat bun, and a collar encircled his neck. Despite the sweltering heat, he walked with a sense of urgency, as if he were afraid of being caught out of place.
The sissy maid's heart raced as he approached the imposing Victorian mansion that was to be his new home. The house loomed over the other buildings like a silent sentinel, its ivy-covered walls whispering secrets of the lives within. The collar around his neck felt heavier with each step he took, a stark reminder of his role. He was no longer a person with free will; he was a servant, a plaything for his new Mistress.
The grand oak door creaked open, and a stern-faced woman, dressed in a crimson corset and black latex pants, greeted him with a smirk. Her eyes raked over his trembling form, lingering on the delicate heels that made him wobble slightly. "You must be the new sissyy maid," she said, her voice a sweet symphony of power and sarcasm. "I'm your Mistress. You're going to learn to serve me and my guests with absolute obedience and respect."
Without warning, she snatched the gag from his mouth. "You will address me as Mistress at all times." she demanded. The sissyy maid nodded, his eyes brimming with fear. The Mistress took a step closer, her high-heeled boots clicking on the marble floor. "Good," she purred, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. "Now, let's see how well you clean." She gestured towards a grimy floor, and without a word, he dropped to his knees, his pantyhose tearing slightly as he began to scrub. The aggression in her voice had made it clear that his performance would determine his fate.
The Mistress watched him work, her arms crossed over her ample chest. She took in the sight of her new acquisition, the way the dress clung to his curves, the sweat beading on his brow as he struggled to keep the heavy heels on. This was going to be an entertaining arrangement, she mused. As he worked, she decided it was time to establish the boundaries of their relationship. "You will not speak unless spoken to," she said firmly. "And when I need you to clean something, you will do it without question. Do you understand?"
The sissy maid nodded again, his eyes never leaving the floor. The Mistress stepped closer, her heel pressing into his back. "I can't hear you, sissy." He gulped and managed to say, "Yes, Mistress." The words felt foreign on his lips, but he knew they were the key to survival in this new, twisted world.
As the days passed, the sissy maid's existence became a blur of endless chores and humiliation. The Mistress was relentless in her demands, pushing him to his limits both physically and mentally. He was often gagged and chained, unable to do anything but follow her every whim. The other servants, all dressed in similarly degrading outfits, avoided his gaze. They knew better than to show any sign of solidarity; they had all learned the hard way, too.
The sissy maid's heart raced as he approached the imposing Victorian mansion that was to be his new home. The house loomed over the other buildings like a silent sentinel, its ivy-covered walls whispering secrets of the lives within. The collar around his neck felt heavier with each step he took, a stark reminder of his role. He was no longer a person with free will; he was a servant, a plaything for his new Mistress.
The grand oak door creaked open, and a stern-faced woman, dressed in a crimson corset and black latex pants, greeted him with a smirk. Her eyes raked over his trembling form, lingering on the delicate heels that made him wobble slightly. "You must be the new sissyy maid," she said, her voice a sweet symphony of power and sarcasm. "I'm your Mistress. You're going to learn to serve me and my guests with absolute obedience and respect."
Without warning, she snatched the gag from his mouth. "You will address me as Mistress at all times." she demanded. The sissyy maid nodded, his eyes brimming with fear. The Mistress took a step closer, her high-heeled boots clicking on the marble floor. "Good," she purred, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. "Now, let's see how well you clean." She gestured towards a grimy floor, and without a word, he dropped to his knees, his pantyhose tearing slightly as he began to scrub. The aggression in her voice had made it clear that his performance would determine his fate.
The Mistress watched him work, her arms crossed over her ample chest. She took in the sight of her new acquisition, the way the dress clung to his curves, the sweat beading on his brow as he struggled to keep the heavy heels on. This was going to be an entertaining arrangement, she mused. As he worked, she decided it was time to establish the boundaries of their relationship. "You will not speak unless spoken to," she said firmly. "And when I need you to clean something, you will do it without question. Do you understand?"
The sissy maid nodded again, his eyes never leaving the floor. The Mistress stepped closer, her heel pressing into his back. "I can't hear you, sissy." He gulped and managed to say, "Yes, Mistress." The words felt foreign on his lips, but he knew they were the key to survival in this new, twisted world.
As the days passed, the sissy maid's existence became a blur of endless chores and humiliation. The Mistress was relentless in her demands, pushing him to his limits both physically and mentally. He was often gagged and chained, unable to do anything but follow her every whim. The other servants, all dressed in similarly degrading outfits, avoided his gaze. They knew better than to show any sign of solidarity; they had all learned the hard way, too.
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