A Tale of Two Maids Read online

  He even spelled it out for her. "There is absolutely, no way in hell you're getting me to do this."

  Yet, here he sat in a chair in her tight skirt and even tighter panties as she tickled his face with makeup

  brushes. He had a blurry recollection of the time spent between "no" and his ass hitting the chair. She'd spoken

  softly to him. She'd reasoned with him. She'd sat in his lap, pressed her breasts against him. She'd kissed him. There

  had been a lot of kissing and it was like rays of golden light filling his heart and mind. The smell of her body, her

  shampoo, her perfume, the lotion that softened her skin, all worked their magic on him. She whispered to him,

  "Won't you even just try . . . for me?" She squirmed on his lap as his cock grew and grew and grew. She hummed

  and giggled in his ear, "Some part of you is liking the idea. Let's just see what you'd look like. You always say you

  wish you were more adventurous. You always say you feel like you want to do more. All you have to do is sit there.

  Turn yourself over to me for an hour. If you don't like the way you look, you can be a doorman."

  He kissed her neck and heard her breathing change. He reached for her, but she caught his hands and kept

  them from her body, teasing him mercilessly. "Of course," she hummed and licked his ear, "if you do like it, you

  have to go through with it."

  She'd teased him into it. She'd drawn all the blood from his brain down into his cock and robbed him of

  reason. He had not a single clear thought until he awoke from her spell blinking. She'd made him strip. Her hands

  had rubbed the cold pink goop all over his body, the hair remover, and he was shoved him into the shower.

  As his body hair fell away, he began to get the blood back into his brain, but by then it was too late. She'd

  already convinced him to take the first step and now he was stuck.

  In the chair, in the body hugging feminine clothing, spritzed with perfume, feeling soft and small and

  smelling more like her than himself, he had already fallen partway down the rabbit hole.

  Sophia stood back and blinked with surprise. She covered her mouth with her hands and giggled and

  gasped. "Oh . . . oh my! Mark . . . Mark! Oh, Mark, this is going to work. You--" She could barely catch her breath.

  Her face was stretched taut with a mischievous grin. "You . . . you have no idea!"

  He could only gaze up at her and blink, feeling the weight of the false eyelashes on his eyelids, seeing them

  in his vision like perched butterflies fluttering their wings every time he blinked. His face felt a little tight, like he

  was wearing a mask. He could smell his makeup, his perfume. He gazed down at his body and saw the way his

  blouse--her blouse--poked out with his fake breasts. He gazed down at his smooth, soft legs, made shiny and sleek

  by the stockings, as they slipped out from beneath the skirt's short hem. The skirt itself was tight enough that it

  forced his knees together into a prim, female pose.

  He gazed back up at her, feeling nervous. "Can I--can I see?"

  With her hands still covering her mouth, she nodded, then thrust up a finger. "Wait! Don't move. I mean it!

  Don't move a muscle. I'll be right back."

  She yelled at him as she rushed off. "Don't you dare leave that seat!"

  He was afraid to move actually. He didn't want to see himself.

  Sophia rushed back with a pair of silver heels.

  He shook his head, his tummy turning. "No."

  She grinned at him, blushing. "Oh, let's not start that again. You know you'll lose. Give me your foot."

  In a daze, he stuck out his foot and felt her slipping on the shoe. Suddenly, she'd turned him into Cinderella.

  She slipped on the other one and whispered, "Those are called kitten heels. We'll start you off low and work you

  up."

  He didn't know what she meant, but he blushed at the term. Kitten heels. They even sounded girly. He was

  a kitten now? As soft as a kitten? As cute as a kitten? He didn't want to be soft and cute. He wanted to be hard and

  strong.

  She helped him to his feet, and the heels were not so tall that he couldn't manage. Still, she coached him.

  "Small steps. One foot in front of the other. Heel toe. Land on your heel first, then roll your foot to your toe. Don't

  resist the way they make you stand. Just go with it. If you sway your hips a little more, that will actually help."

  He knew how to walk. Didn't he?

  She dragged him by the hand to the master bathroom. He glanced at himself walking in, gaze flitting from

  Sophia to the cute little girl behind . . . her . . . blushing. . . .

  He stared deep into Wonderland. There was a girl there who looked only vaguely like him, dressed sexy,

  with a face so pretty, with eyes so big, with lips so perfect and wet and sultry that she looked like a doll.

  He gasped. "Oh . . . my . . . GOD!"

  He touched his face, but Sophia slapped his hand away. "Don't smudge it."

  He shook his head. His hair was too short, of course, and it wasn't a girl hairstyle at all, no matter how

  Sophia had brushed it, but the rest of him didn't look like him at all. It wasn't just that he looked like a girl that

  dropped his jaw; it was that he--she--was cute. She was pretty. Very pretty. Even as his stomach turned, his heart

  fluttered in his chest. He couldn't swallow the shock; he could barely breath. "I--I can't believe it."

  "Do you like it?" Sophia whispered, grinning from ear to ear.

  Now he knew why girls loved mirrors so much. You really just couldn't get enough of that pretty girl, even

  when it was you. "I--I look like a girl."

  "But do you like it?" Sophia asked again.

  He couldn't tear his eyes away from himself. He looked and looked again, each time expecting to catch

  sight of the old male Mark, but if he was there, he was so well hidden he was practically invisible. "I . . . I don't

  know what to think."

  Sophia hugged him from behind and propped her chin on his shoulder, eyes twinkling beside his in the

  mirror. "I'd say with the way you're falling in love with your reflection that you like it. In fact, I'd say you love it.

  Don't you?"

  Mark laughed. "I . . . I can't . . . I just can't believe it."

  Sophia's eyes met his. "Just say you like it, sweetie."

  He shook his head, still stunned, still shocked, still wide-eyed. "I--"

  Sophia pouted, and it was so sexy that Mark wanted to emulate it, make the other pretty girl in the mirror

  pout and look sexy, too. "You hate it?"

  She was teasing him now and it wasn't fair. His cheeks were on fire. He couldn't meet her gaze, which was

  good, because he didn't want to stop ogling his own pretty girl face. "No . . . no of course not. I'm just . . . in shock."

  "If you don't hate it, then that must mean you like it," Sophia whispered.

  He shook his head and realized his hair was too short and all wrong. It made him look boyish. With the

  right hairstyle, with a wig--what was he thinking!--he would look absolutely-- "I . . . I don't hate it. I just can't

  believe it."

  "Then--" Sophia suggested with a conspiratorial tone, "--that means. . . ."

  He blushed and laughed and shook his head, imagining a different hairstyle on his head. Blonde? Brunette?

  Curls? Straight? Long? Short and sassy? What in God's name was he thinking? "I guess," he whispered, still lost in

  his own pretty eyes as his long lashes fluttered, "I guess it means I like it."

  Sophia grinned. She flashed him an "I gotcha" expression. "Good, then you'll go through with it."

  He blinked. "Go--go through with
what?"

  "We agreed if you hated it, you could be a doorman, but you don't hate it. You just said you liked it."

  "No, but I--"

  "We agreed."

  He stared at her.

  "We agreed if you liked it, you'd go through it. Well, you like it, so. . . ."

  "But--"

  "We report in four weeks. That should give us enough time to work on your posture and mannerisms and

  get you thinking like a girl."

  "Sophie--I--I can't do this. You know that."

  She patted his cheek with a smile, noticing how his blush made him positively glow like a princess. "It's

  already done, sweetie. Don't worry. You'll look absolutely adorable in your little pink uniform."

  He opened his mouth to say something, but he'd simply run out of words.

  Two Sexy Maids Reporting for Duty, Sir

  He sat in the airplane seat and fidgeted endlessly, staring at his shiny red nails.

  The first time she'd glued them in place, they had rendered him helpless. She'd spent an hour shaping them,

  buffing them, priming them, brushing on the wet polish then the topcoat, and afterward he couldn't do anything. He

  couldn't touch anything; he couldn't pick anything up; they were in the way of everything. He had to relearn how to

  work a light switch, how to open a door, how to hold a spoon.

  When she strapped the high heels on to his feet, he couldn't walk. He could mince, he could tiptoe; even

  short steps took concentration-- heel-toe, one foot in front of the other--but he couldn't move as he'd moved his entire

  life. He stood differently, moved differently, felt differently. The shoes, simple as they were--just a puzzle of straps

  and buckles--had dramatically increased his sense of helplessness.

  He couldn't touch his face because of his makeup. He could only scratch an itch with the tip of his shiny red

  nail. If he smudged it in the slightest, Sophia sent him back to the mirror for a fix. Reapply the lipstick, fix the eyes,

  freshen the blush, powder until the shine disappeared. As much as he loved the mirror, as much as he loved ogling

  the pretty girl he saw there, it had begun to take over his life. He spent far more time staring at his own perfectly

  painted face than he ever had before as a man. It was as if Sophia was encouraging him to believe in the girl he saw

  there over the man he was inside. She was actually creating a sense of vanity in him.

  At the end of his journey was a frilly pink maid's uniform with puffy sleeves, a ruffled petticoat and a

  sweetheart neckline. He couldn't imagine what that might feel like on his thin body. He tried not to think about it.

  She'd changed him. He wasn't entirely certain how, but it had been four weeks of dreamy bliss. She'd had

  help, he knew. When she'd called the resort, they'd emailed her papers to fill out, including legal warnings and

  medical releases. Both of them had been put on a rigid regiment, sent daily to a gym for three-hour sessions with a

  private trainer, yoga, weight training, cardio. They were given a strict diet. They were matched with a nutritionist

  and a beautician, told what to eat, how much and when, told what skin products to use, how much and when, told

  when to sleep and for how long.

  They were being molded to the resort model.

  Sophia had daily sessions with a coach through a web cam to which Mark was not privy, but he soon came to

  understand the topic of discussion was him. It made him nervous, and that was apparently the first thing to be

  addressed.

  Two little pills. Sophia held them out to him every morning. One white. One pink. Mark asked what they

  were. "Lydia says you're too tense. These will help you relax. It's a tranquilizer and a mild muscle relaxer. They'll

  just soften you a little and make you a little more agreeable."

  Of course he was going to refuse to take them, but Sophia melted her soft body into his and took charge of

  his lips, wetting them with her own, nibbling, teasing him with her tongue, playing hide and seek. When he caught

  her tongue, swirled his around hers, she withdrew and popped one pill into his mouth. "Swallow," she whispered,

  and he did. She kissed him again, making his cock stretch and ache for her, then withdrew, popping the second pill

  into his mouth. "Swallow."

  When she was done, she turned with a grin. He watched her perfect ass sway like a hypnotic pendulum as

  she walked to the closet. Finally, he caught hold of himself and asked, "How--how long until they take effect?"

  She returned from the Master Closet with a pair of tight, flesh colored panties. They looked like they were

  made of rubber or latex. "Oh, Lydia says you might not notice it at all . . . at first. They're cumulative. Here. Let's get

  you into these." She handed them the panties and waited.

  He intended to just stand there, holding the ridiculous thing, making snide remarks, but in just another

  moment he found himself stepping into them. "These are--what are these?"

  "It's a gaffe. Here. You tuck your little boy toy in here, and when you draw them up tight, they smooth out

  your front."

  He stood gawking down at his erect penis.

  She stood grinning and blushing. "Don't move. I'll go get some ice."

  He grabbed her by the arm--the gaffe awkwardly wrapping around his thighs--and pressed his cock between

  her legs. He breathed warmly against her neck and took a bite, feeling the delight travel down her body. "Why can't

  we--"

  She placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed. "Lydia says not cumming will make you fall into the role

  more. You have to give up your cock, sweetie." Her twinkling blue eyes met his. It was everything he could do not

  to whimper. She began to rub his nipples softly as she breathed on his lips. "Just give it up for a little while. Give it to me instead. Don't think of it as your cock anymore. Think of it as mine. My toy."

  For a moment, he could've sworn she'd said the word, "Yum."

  Once she'd pressed the bitter cold ice to his cock, it began to shrink. He watched with a surreal sense of

  horror as she made his erection go away, as if it was a simple thing, as if it was nothing, nothing he really needed.

  He felt utterly powerless and he couldn't even get any pleasure from it because the very thing that would stiffen with

  arousal at the idea was now gone. In a strange way, he felt she was simply erasing his maleness.

  The gaffe was skintight and it left him no wiggle room at all. The only sign of his erection was now a close

  to unbearable pressure between his legs. As he watched himself get dressed, seeing the pretty girl take shape in the

  mirror, the pressure made him wince and whimper. Other times it just felt numb and senseless and made him feel as

  if it had never existed. He was taught to breathe through the cycles of pressure and arousal until they faded.

  Sometimes, it felt swollen and hot down there, especially when he worked on his lips, getting them red and shiny

  and as glossy as glass. He no longer felt erections; now he felt pressure.

  "Lydia says that will change soon," Sophia whispered. "The pills will take the edge off. You'll see."

  Lydia was right. He barely felt any effect at all . . . at first. Then one day, he was sitting and staring off into

  space blissfully. He felt happy. He felt dreamy. That's when the days started to run into one another.

  Sophia rubbed his nipples lightly, always in little circles, always gazing deep into his eyes. "Lydia says you

  should always be in heels."

  He was always in heels from then on. He even slept in them.

  She rubbed his nipples at bedtime and whisp
ered to him. "Lydia says we should do this every night to tuck

  you in, so be a good girl and get your beauty sleep. You're doing so well. You're being a good girl for me. I love

  what you're doing for me. I love what we're doing to you. Good girl. Good girl."

  In the morning, she rubbed his nipples and fed him his pills. "Lydia says we should do this every morning to

  help you wake up. Be a good girl and swallow now. Swallow. You're doing so well. You'll be a good girl for me

  today, won't you? It's time to start your day. Let's both promise to be good girls today, hm?"

  "Lydia says" soon became almost like a game of "Simon Says". He'd never even met Lydia, but he found

  himself automatically going along with whatever Sophia suggested every time she used the phrase. Was that the

  pills? Was that because he hadn't cum in weeks and felt the desire to please Sophia in hopes of a release? Or was

  something else at work here?

  He'd felt himself changing slowly, usually not noticing until the change had already been made. He held

  himself differently. He walked differently. He posed his hands and arms and legs differently. He stood differently.

  He spoke differently. Lydia says you should speak from your throat and not your chest. Lydia says you should speak

  softer. Lydia says good girls don't use the phrase "I want". They say "I'd like."

  There were web cam interviews with them as a couple and individually. He never saw the face on the other

  end. It was always a one-way communication.

  Finally, after four weeks or so (could he remember?), they were given a report date.

  There was not the usual hustle and bustle of packing and getting to the airport. Instead, it was all very

  relaxing. They were picked up by a car, transported to a small airport and loaded on to a plane.

  He sat in the soft cushion of the white leather seats and pulled the hem of his short pink skirt down yet again.

  It was too short, but his legs looked so amazing in the white hose.

  "Don't fidget, sweetie," Sophia whispered.

  How had he come to be here? His hair had grown out a little and Sophia had attacked it with her curling iron

  and hair dryer. It softened his face even more. His nails were so long and shiny and he kept staring at them. His

  hands looked female. His legs looked slender; his hips curvy. "Why did I let you do this to me?"