Receiving visitors
This lovely maid goes promptly to receive visitors of her beloved Mistress. She will attend them with her best smile and feminine manners. Her Mistress must be proud of her diligent maid.
The doorbell chimed sweetly, piercing the quiet afternoon. The sissy maid paused in his meticulous dusting of the antique vase in the hallway. It was an unexpected sound in the sprawling mansion, a place where solitude was the most reliable of companions.
Visitors meant that Mistress had planned something special, and the sissy maid knew that special occasions called for his most impeccable service. He glided across the polished marble floor, the swish of his silk petticoats echoing off the high ceilings. The house was a stage, and he was about to perform in the role he was born for.
In the grand foyer, the chandelier cast a warm glow over the gleaming surfaces. Kitten's reflection danced in the gleaming mahogany of the banister as he approached the door. He took a moment to ensure that every hair was in place, every ribbon perfectly tied. The door was a barrier to the outside world, a world that knew him as something else, as someone else. But here, in this house, he was the sissy maid, and he was ready to greet whatever lay beyond that threshold.
The door swung open with a grace that belied its weight. The scent of freshly cut flowers wafted in from the garden, mingling with the faint scent of leather and musk that clung to the visitors' clothes. There they were, three of them, their eyes widening slightly as they took in the sight of him. The sissy maid's smile never wavered as he stepped aside, ushering them in with a sweep of his hand. "Welcome to our humble abode," he trilled, his voice a soft melody that seemed to float in the air. "Mistress will be with you shortly."
The visitors, two men and a woman, exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and something else that the sissy maid couldn't quite read. He didn't care; their opinions were as irrelevant as the dust he'd spent the morning banishing. His only concern was pleasing Mistress. He led them into the drawing room, where the plush sofas and velvet drapes whispered secrets of countless past gatherings. The crackling fireplace threw flickering shadows across the floor, and a decanter of fine wine waited on the sideboard, untouched until Mistress deemed it necessary.
The visitors seated themselves, their movements stiff with uncertainty. The sissy maid busied himself, arranging the cushions just so, straightening an already straight painting, anything to avoid their scrutinizing gazes. The silence was a heavy cloak that he longed to shed. But he knew better than to speak out of turn. So, he waited, his eyes downcast, his posture demure, his heart racing in anticipation of the main event.
Visitors meant that Mistress had planned something special, and the sissy maid knew that special occasions called for his most impeccable service. He glided across the polished marble floor, the swish of his silk petticoats echoing off the high ceilings. The house was a stage, and he was about to perform in the role he was born for.
In the grand foyer, the chandelier cast a warm glow over the gleaming surfaces. Kitten's reflection danced in the gleaming mahogany of the banister as he approached the door. He took a moment to ensure that every hair was in place, every ribbon perfectly tied. The door was a barrier to the outside world, a world that knew him as something else, as someone else. But here, in this house, he was the sissy maid, and he was ready to greet whatever lay beyond that threshold.
The door swung open with a grace that belied its weight. The scent of freshly cut flowers wafted in from the garden, mingling with the faint scent of leather and musk that clung to the visitors' clothes. There they were, three of them, their eyes widening slightly as they took in the sight of him. The sissy maid's smile never wavered as he stepped aside, ushering them in with a sweep of his hand. "Welcome to our humble abode," he trilled, his voice a soft melody that seemed to float in the air. "Mistress will be with you shortly."
The visitors, two men and a woman, exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and something else that the sissy maid couldn't quite read. He didn't care; their opinions were as irrelevant as the dust he'd spent the morning banishing. His only concern was pleasing Mistress. He led them into the drawing room, where the plush sofas and velvet drapes whispered secrets of countless past gatherings. The crackling fireplace threw flickering shadows across the floor, and a decanter of fine wine waited on the sideboard, untouched until Mistress deemed it necessary.
The visitors seated themselves, their movements stiff with uncertainty. The sissy maid busied himself, arranging the cushions just so, straightening an already straight painting, anything to avoid their scrutinizing gazes. The silence was a heavy cloak that he longed to shed. But he knew better than to speak out of turn. So, he waited, his eyes downcast, his posture demure, his heart racing in anticipation of the main event.
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