Spoiled french maid

Spoiled sissy maid

The figure shifted in their chair, the fabric of their black short french maid dress rustling like a whispered secret. Their eyes studied the image for a moment, noting the way the light bounced off their shiny black stockings and the sharp points of their high heels. The sight brought a peculiar mix of emotions—shame, anger, and... a twisted sense of satisfaction. The reflection was of someone who didn't belong here, someone who was a living, breathing contradiction.

 

"Oh, to be normal," they thought with a bitterness that soured their tea. But the truth was, they were far from it. The manor was their prison, the maid uniform their brand. They were a sissy maid, and this was their fate, whether they liked it or not. The heavy heels dug into the plush carpet, a silent protest against the role they were forced to play.

The silence was shattered by the sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, approaching the library door. The sissy maid's heart skipped a beat as they set their tea down, straightening their posture. They knew who it was without looking. The very air in the room seemed to thicken with anticipation, a mix of fear and excitement. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowy outline of their master. The sissy maid's eyes widened, and their mouth went dry. The day was about to begin, and with it, a dance of dominance and submission that they had come to know all too well.

"Good morning, my dear," the master's deep voice boomed, filling the space like a dark cloud. The sissy maid swallowed hard, feeling their cheeks grow hot. They looked up, meeting the master's gaze, and for a brief moment, the world outside the library ceased to exist. "I trust you're ready to serve?"

"Y-yes, Master," the sissy maid stuttered, the words sticking in their throat like a mouthful of dry toast. They rose from the chair, the hem of their dress brushing against their thighs, exposing the lacy undergarments beneath. The master's eyes traveled over their body, lingering on the curves that were so out of place in this masquerade of servitude.

The sissy maid felt a twinge of resentment, a spark of rebellion, but it was quickly snuffed out by the cold reality of their situation. They were here to serve, to be used, and to be humiliated. And as much as they hated it, there was a part of them that craved it too. They took a deep breath, pushing down their emotions, and forced a smile that felt like it was painted on.

"As always, Master," they said, their voice a shaky imitation of cheerfulness. The master's lip curled into a smirk, and the sissy maid felt their stomach drop. They knew that look. It was the look that meant today would be one of those days—a day when the boundaries of their role would be tested, stretched, and perhaps even shattered.