Chrissie The Saga of a Lovestruck Sissy Maid
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A New Sissy Maid free porn video
Chapter 1
It was a sunny, summer’s day as he walked up the front path to the unknown house, pulling a rolling suitcase behind him. It was really too warm to be wearing a turtleneck sweater, but bearing in mind what was under it, he really knew he did not have a choice. His heart was beating furiously, he was sweating, his palms were moist and his mouth was getting drier by the second. He had never done anything like this before. Well, he had come this far. No turning back now, he told himself, fatalistically, swallowing hard. At least, see what happens, give it a go. It’s an exercise in building character. Yes, that’s it, life experience, he told himself. He swallowed hard as he walked up to the door, all too aware that this was the last time he would walk in such a manner. A huge change to his life lay on the other side of that door.
He had an image in his mind of himself as he was now, as the man he was about to leave behind. Nothing exceptional, dressed conservatively but with an inner life that had dominated and tormented him for so long…
He forced the image out of his mind as he reached up to touch the doorbell now in front of him. He hesitated for one last second then rang the bell. He could hear it ringing on the other side of the door but far away as if in a dream. His heart beat harder and faster than ever as time seemed to slow down. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He stood there. Three minutes passed, at least. Maybe it wasn’t going to happen, maybe it had been called off, maybe… His heart leapt again as he suddenly heard steps making their way to the door. The handle turned, slowly, loudly, and the door swung open.
”Yes?” said the man on the other side.
The visitor had a glimpse of a handsome face with a sardonic smile on it before he lowered his eyes to the man’s chest and managed to utter the phrase he had been instructed to speak.
“Good afternoon Sir. I’m here to clean the house”
The man opened the door and stood aside.
Taking one last swallow, the guest entered, walking into the foyer as his host closed the door, shutting out the outside world with a soft but final sound of wood and rubber.
”Put your bag down and stand there,” he ordered, forgoing the pleasantries in a way that set the tone immediately. The guest stood on the spot as ordered.
”Well...?
The guest stood there, hesitantly.
”Off with those clothes.”
The guest took a gulp before his final dive in, and reached for the bottom of the pullover but he was stopped by the man saying, ”Uh, excuse me.”
The guest stared back. .
”Do you have something to say?”
A wave of shame washed over him. He was still in male clothes after all. He was still a man, an equal, at least up to this point, wasn’t he?
”Sir...he mumbled defeatedly, looking down again, “Yes Sir.”
Recognizing the profound and wonderful difficulty this probably took to say, the Master let the mumble slide and smirked again. The guest put his hands back down. He grabbed the pullover and raised it above his head and off. Then the shirt, then pants, then the shoes, (he had been told not to wear socks) as he stripped down for the first time for another man. Finally he stood there before the Master in a full set of women’s lingerie contrasting with his white skin. Black satin panties. Black push-up bra. Long black nylons attached to a black satin garter belt, with a little pink rose on the front. And a black choker around his neck which his turtleneck once covered. There he stood in shame and mortification, as the sissy he knew he was and had always been. The Master was now smiling, pleased with what he saw.
”Very nice.”
The sissy stood there, completely on display, knees trembling from nerves and the
novelty of it all.
”You are a real sissy, aren’t you?”
”Sir,” he whispered, “yes Sir.”
”Nice bra. Where’d you get it?
”Sir, it was my ex-girlfriend’s, Sir.”
There was a silence as the Master smiled, albeit bemused.
”You stole it from her?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Where’d you get the garter belt?”
”Sir, a department store, Sir.”
”You went in there and bought it yourself?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Pretending it was for your girlfriend.”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”But it wasn’t for your girlfriend was it?”
”Sir, no Sir.”
Another pause.
”Are you glad you’re here, sissy?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Are you nervous?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”But you’re ready to be my maid.”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Say it,” he said, now warmed up. “All of it.”
The sissy, while reeling from the humiliation, aware of the chill of the air conditioning against his skin, was nevertheless falling into the rhythm of the questioning. He spoke up a bit, his voice echoing in the foyer.
”Sir, I’m ready to be your maid, sir”
”Say it again.”
”Sir, I’m ready to be your maid, sir”
”Ask me for it.”
A pause.
”Sir, may I please be your maid, Sir?”
”What’s that?”
He swallowed again.
”Sir, may I please be your maid, Sir?”
There was a brief silence as the Master smiled, satisfied.
”Sissy, I want you to go upstairs. Up there you’ll find your room, on the
right. Take your bag, and leave your clothes here. Go put on what’s on the
hanger, the accessories on the night table, everything you see laid out.”
He paused, waiting.
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Then put on your makeup and wig. You will do a good job on your makeup
won’t you?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Go ahead, sissy,” he ordered, with an air of doing him a favour.
”Sir, yes Sir,” replied the sissy, as he turned and marched up the staircase in his black lingerie.
At the top, he stopped in front of the first door. Turning the knob and pushing, he saw what he both dreaded and expected inside the plain guest bedroom: a classic, black French maid’s dress displayed on a hanger, its lines forming the shape of a demure but shapely woman even as it hung there empty. While the uniform was classic, it was far from ordinary, made with customized quality and an exaggerated femininity rarely seen outside the movies, or at least movie parodies. Short flared skirt, dramatic puffed
sleeves, and white lace trimming every conceivable edge. He went and took it off the hanger. Unzipping it, he put it on the floor and stepped in, pulling it up and zipping it. It fit snugly, and intentionally so. The short skirt flared out in all directions, the square collar was edged in flounces of lace. He couldn’t help but turn a bit and watch the skirt billow. Turning to the dresser, he saw a pile of lace and ornaments, and a strange black item. He realized what it was and the dress was off again as, for the first time, he worked himself into a tight, black corset.
He had difficulty in tightening it but with each pull on the strings behind his back he felt his excitement; his shape was changing and he felt like he was becoming a new person. When it was finally on and the strings tied round, he felt that his waist was compressed by nearly four inches which forced him to take short, quick breaths. Once the dress was back on, it was accessory time. In what would have made a great movie montage sequence, he put one thing on after another in a flurry of white lace and ribbons. When this was completed, he went to the vanity and unzipped his bag. Two more items he found beside the dresser....
Twent-five minutes later, a sissy maid emerged from the room. Taking small uncertain steps in her six inch black patent heels with straps encircling each ankle, she carefully stepped out to start her slow descent down the curving staircase. This was it, her coming out party, a sort of perverse debutante ball, one with neither the high society dignity or the inevitable rich-girl-marries-and-never-has-to-work-again happy ending. The Master, hearing the stairs creak, came out to observe the spectacle unfold. Now she was descending, with smoky, heavily made up eyes, lashes lacquered in coat after coat of mascara, thick foundation and powder giving the illusion of a smooth, porcelain like complexion, and lips drawn and painted into a scarlet bow. Gold clip hoop earrings dangled against her rose tinged cheeks with each step. Down below, her dress was now accentuated with the lacy, frilly white satin apron tied into a big bow at the rear and complemented by a pair of three-inch wide lace cuffs on each wrist. Her skirt now stood out nearly horizontally below her waist, buoyed by yards of short ruffled petticoats. Her chin was tickled slightly by a white lace choker collar with a black bow. A delicate lace headband fanned out ridiculously, perched almost proudly atop her wig. A lacey white leg garter with a small black bow constantly revealed itself on her left leg as her skirt bounced exuberantly with each step. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she reached the bottom.
”Come here,” ordered the Master, pointing to a position just in front of him
The sissy spoke even more softly now, simply unable to comprehend how this
all had happened.
”Sir, yes Sir.”
She clacked over the hard floor in her heels, taking very small steps and one foot placed directly in front of the other in what she hoped was a new and feminine gait, to the spot in front of her Master. If there was ever any doubt who was in charge before, a simple snapshot of the moment would have made it clear even to a caveman what the dynamic was now.
She stood in front of the Master for a full minute as the Master examined her. Finally he spoke.
“The corset will eventually be much tighter but not bad for a first attempt.”
“Sir, thank you, Sir”, she replied.
”Tell me, sissy, do you like this outfit?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Tell me.”
”Sir, I like my outfit, Sir.”
”Then thank me for allowing you to pay for it.”
”Sir, thank you for allowing me to pay for the outfit, Sir.”
”Tell me how much you like wearing this.”
“Sir, I like wearing this more than anything else I’ve ever worn, Sir.”
”I want you to walk over to the mirror. Tell me what you see.” He pointed to a mirror on the wall. The sissy clacked over and stood in front of it, gazing at her image. If there was a trace of maleness left, it was not evident in his reflection.
”I see a highly effeminate, sissified, pansy French maid.”
”Excuse me?”
She paused for a moment, then remembered. “Sir, I see, a highly effeminate, sissified, pansy French maid, Sir.”
”Does she appear to be obedient and submissive?
“Sir, yes Sir.”
“Say the whole thing.”
“Sir, she appears to be an effeminate, highly obedient and submissive, sissified, pansy French maid, Sir.”
“Turn around. Twirl. Keep looking at yourself.”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” she said, twirling around, then whipping her head around to see herself again, now sinking down into the essence of her femininity.
”Again.”
She sank lower in her mind.
”Let your wrists hang limp. Again.”
Lower.
”Now curtsey”. She hit rock bottom.
Sliding one foot behind the other, she grasped the edges of her skirt between her thumb and forefinger. She spread them apart and bent down, bowing in the mirror. Then came up.
“Now, sissy, I can tell you that you may now love the way you look, love the uniform that you are wearing – but you will come to curse it, and wish for something more practical. But you have chosen this uniform as your working clothes, have you not?”
“Sir, yes, I chose this uniform as my working clothes, Sir.”
“I fear you did not think this through, sissy. But I gave you the choice, you made it, and now you must live with it, even when your legs ache from wearing those heels all day, even when you are on your knees scrubbing floors and still have to maintain a perfect uniform.”
The sissy’s chest heaved in her corset as the implication of what the Master said sank in. Already the heels were hurting her, as was the corset – she felt its bite.
”Come here.”
She clacked over in her pointed heels once again and stopped before him.
”Sissy, are you ready to take on your designated role now?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”To accept your destiny and give up your masculinity completely?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”To do anything and everything I say no matter how trivial or degrading, or risk being put out of the house exactly as you are now?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Are you ready for your instructions?”
She stood there, swaying in her heels, swimming helplessly in her satin and lace uniform. Their roles were as black and white as the confection she now paraded in before him.
”Sir,” she replied, “yes Sir.”
Chapter 2
The Master was speaking. The sissy stood before him in the foyer in full French maid’s regalia, keeping her back straight, attempting not to sway too much in her high heels. Her palms were sweating and there seemed to be a nearly deafening silent buzzing sensation in her ears. From somewhere in the distance, she almost felt she could hear a jilted ex-girlfriend’s vaguely hysterical laughter aimed at her. Trying to put the thought out of her mind, she concentrated on the instructions now being delivered to her.
“I expect you have given yourself a feminine name which you assume is your identity. If you have done so then I have no desire to know it. To me you are simply ‘sissy’. That is your name and your title and your essence as far as I am concerned.”
“Sir, yes, I understand, Sir.”
”You are here for two things - to take care of the house, and to please me. Often, they will be one and the same. Often you will be called on to please me sexually. You will do this without any thought of your own pleasure. You will live here, but since you so graciously decided to accept my generous offer of working here for free, you are also an employee. As such, you will be expected to follow certain rules and prescribed behaviors as set out by your employer, in order to remind you constantly of your position here. Is that understood, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”As such, the first rule is that you will never speak unless spoken to, unless you have a question regarding pleasing me. Is that clear, sissy?”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”If you must use the bathroom, if I am here, you must first ask me for permission. And of course, you will always go the way a proper sissy should. Do you know what that is, sissy?”
“Sir, I think so, Sir.”
”And what is that?”
“Sir, sitting down, Sir?”
“Very good, sissy. Every time I enter a room, or you enter a room where I am, or I dismiss you from a room, you will perform a deep, gracious curtsey for me. When you are standing or kneeling at attention, in other words, awaiting my orders, your hands will always be kept crossed over your apron. Is that understood, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir,” she replied. After a brief pause, she quickly and ditzily crossed her hands in the manner described.
”Your walk is already very feminine. That is good. Have you practiced this walk before, sissy?” There was a slight silence as the sissy looked at the ground.
”Sissy?” he raised his voice slightly.
”Sir, yes Sir.”
”Very good. But just to make sure you remember exactly who you are, when you walk, assuming they are not performing a task for me, I want your arms to be up always, and your wrists to hang limply down, fingers pointing towards the floor. I’ll bet you can do that, can’t you, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
“Do it.”
She raised her arms to her sides.
”Do it walking, sissy bitch.”
Taking a deep breath at the sting of the words, she gathered herself and began walking towards the opposite wall her arms held up, hands dangling like a skipping little girl or a flamboyantly gay man. She turned on her heels and strode back to her Master in the same manner.
”Good sissy. Now, here’s the tricky part. Whenever I say ‘Mince, sissy,”’ I want you to walk with your hands down, below your apron, fingers pointed outward. When I say ‘Prance, sissy,” I want your arms back up like they were before. Quickly and silently. Is that clear, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
“Are you sure, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir,” she repeated.
”Good. Why don’t you give it a try. You do want to try it don’t you?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Let’s go. Mince, sissy.”
Keeping her arms down straight at her sides, she began the same walk again, only this time with her arms straight down, fingers pointed outward, in a manner befitting some sort of walking Barbie doll.
”Prance, sissy.”
As she got to the end, she suddenly lifted her arms up. Turning, she held them up as her hands flopped from side to side.
”Mince, sissy.”
Back down went the hands, the arms swinging stiffly back and forth.
”Prance, sissy.”
Again with the dangling wrists.
After a few passes, the Master ordered the sissy to stop, barely concealing his mirth at this game. She came to a halt before him, her bosom now appearing to heave under her bodice in deep gasping breaths.
”Very good sissy. I want you to understand perfectly clearly. From now on, you are to do everything as told. If I order you to lisp, you will lisp. If I order you to speak in a French accent, you will do so. If I have to lift a finger I do not want to lift, or utter an instruction I do not want to have to utter, you will have failed, and therefore be punished, or cast out the door as dressed. You don’t want either of those to happen now do you, sissy?”
”Sir, no Sir.”
“One more thing, sissy. You are to be a sissy at all times. If I catch the slightest glimpse of masculine behaviour in the way you walk or talk or behave, then you will be punished severely. Remember you are a sissy, a pansy, a fairy, a faggot and you must show this at all times. A sissy is not a woman so you will not act like a woman but as a sissy. That is why you prance and mince; that is why you wear clothes that no woman would wear. That is why you will have to adapt to walking in those ridiculously high heels for the entire day. Do you understand, sissy?’
“Yes, sir. I do understand, Sir,” she said, pitching her voice higher than usual.
”Good. Since you will be adopting the role of the woman of the house, I think it is only appropriate that you have a tour, don’t you?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Prance, sissy.”
Turning his back, he headed toward the stairs. With wrists limp and heels clacking behind to keep up, she followed him up the stairs. He went to the room where she had changed.
”This is your room, where you will sleep and dress. You may repair to it only at night, or when I say you may. Is this clear, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”I will be making some minor modifications to it later, but you needn’t be concerned about that. Let’s keep going. Mince, sissy.”
Lowering her arms to the straightened position, she followed along.
”Here is the Master bedroom. You will not enter hear except to make my bed in the morning, or when I call you. Is that understood?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Prance sissy,” he snapped, turning again to show her the guest bedroom. While there was no one staying there, she would still be expected to dust and vacuum each day, freshening the sheets once a week, hospital corners on the sheets always. (Mince, sissy.) This applied to all rooms of the house, the dusting and vacuuming. He showed her to the laundry room, where she would be doing all his laundry, “Except my underwear, which you will personally wash by hand, and your own clothes which will are far too fine and delicate to go through the washing machine.”
(Prance, sissy) “Sir, yes Sir.”
After showing her all the relevant areas of the house and giving her instructions on opening and closing the blinds, the lights, the garbage (mince sissy), etc., the tour concluded in the kitchen. (Heel sissy.)
”Finally, one of the most important rooms in the house for you sissy. Here, you will be cooking all of my meals, and cooking them well. But I’m certain that with the right incentives you will learn to become a very adequate, if not a gourmet chef in no time at all. Except tonight, since we got a late start, and you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. I will order food and you can fix yourself a salad. At any rate, you will keep the place immaculate, the dishes dry and sparkling, and the floors waxed and shined every day so I can see my reflection. I’m afraid I’ve let the place go of late, but that doesn’t matter now. In fact, it won’t matter ever again, will it, sissy?”
”Sir, no Sir.”
”You do know how to wax a floor so I can see my reflection in it, don’t you, sissy?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
He stood there watching her.
”Well what are you waiting for?” he said, enjoying her mouth suddenly drop open in realization.
”Get to it!”
”Sir, yes Sir!” she replied, scurrying off to the cupboard to retrieve her cleaning supplies.
Chapter 3
After she had scoured all the dishes, given the kitchen a thorough cleaning and finished waxing the floors, sissy was set about the house to do a thorough vacuuming and dusting while Master did some work upstairs. Quietly and demurely, she scampered about in her maid’s uniform with a pink feather duster she herself had bought, holding it between her thumb and two forefingers as she dusted the place up and down.
”Don’t forget the blinds, sissy!” Master yelled down, as he set about hammering or drilling or some other manly art that was far beyond the capabilities of what this sissy could do, at least without chipping a nail or putting a run in her silk stockings. As she did the windows, she wondered if any passersby could see her, but then realized with a start that it was probably a bit too late to preserve any dignity now.
By the time she had finished her work and had the place sparkling, it was approaching early evening. This meant it was time to set the dinner table. Carefully she laid out the place setting, complete with white linen tablecloth, silverware, a napkin in a ring, lit candles, the works. It was a lavish affair straight out of an old movie, with the exception that the table was only set for one. After seating her Master and curtseying, she brought out a simple but elegant pasta dish that she had prepared herself. During dinner, she was required to stand to the side, refilling Master’s water glass whenever it was below three quarters full, and his wine glass if he wanted, which he signaled by tapping once on the glass with a spoon. When it was finished, Master signified his approval.
”Not bad for a first effort, sissy, but I believe in time you will learn to do even better, becoming a real gourmet cook as well as a maid. Of course I know you were limited in the ingredients you could use, but you’ll rectify that when you go shopping.”
Sissy felt her knees go weak at this thought.
”Oh don’t worry, you can have the food delivered for now, of course. We don’t want you to take any time away from your housework. If you’re lucky, I may even entrust you with the responsibility of signing for the delivery. How does that sound, sissy?”
“Sir, very good Sir,” she swallowed
”Good. Now clean up.”
Sissy curtseyed as the Master got up and left, then removed the silverware, plates, and the tablecloth, all of which were to be washed. Once she finished with this, she was allowed to have dinner herself: a small salad with cucumbers, shredded carrots, sprouts for protein, 4 croutons, and no dressing. In spite of the meagerness of her supper she was by now starving and relished each bite as if it were a porterhouse steak.
After she had finished cleaning up, Master summoned from the living room. She minced out and curtseyed deeply.
“Fetch me a drink, sissy.”-
“Sir, yes Sir.”
She curtseyed again and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she was carrying a silver tray. She set it down beside him. From a small tumbler, she reached in with a pair of silver tongs and withdrew several ice cubes, dropping them in the glass. Then she began to open the can of Coke. She could feel his amusement as she struggled with the tab while wearing the long, maroon, square-tipped press-on nails which she had been ordered to put on. Finally she popped it open and poured it in, handing it to her Master.
”Thank you, sissy. How are your feet, sissy?”
“Sir, a bit sore, Sir.”
“Why don’t you kneel for a bit,” he said, pointing down at his feet. “After all, we don’t want achy feet do we?”
“Sir, no Sir,” she replied, kneeling at his feet.
”Take off my shoes,” he commanded. She began to untie his laces, but he stopped her.
“Always kiss my shoes before you touch them. Got that sissy?” She replied instinctively, by leaning forward to plant a kiss on the toe of each shoe.
”Very good, sissy.”
She then untied his shoes and removed them one by one, placing them to the side. Then the socks, which she was folded neatly and put to the side as well.
“I’m going to allow you to rub my feet sissy. Aren’t you honored?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”In fact, I think you should always ask to rub my feet after dinner, or whenever I return home. Doesn’t that sound like something a good little maid should do?”
“Sir, yes Sir.”
”Well?”
“Sir, may I please rub your feet Sir?”
“You may.”
Sissy proceeded to give a long, sensuous foot massage. He lay back as she rubbed and kneaded his feet on her knees. About five minutes or relaxation, he seemed to think of something and sat up for a second. Reaching down, he picked up one of his socks. Unfolding it, he put it to sissy’s lips. Confused, she puckered up to kiss it, but instead he began stuffing it into her mouth with his finger. Her eyes went wide as she tasted his toe jam and foot sweat, but continued rubbing as he sat back again, satisfied and smiling. After over an hour of this, he removed the sock.
”Stand up, sissy. I think it is time for both of us to get ready for bed. I’m taking it easy on you tonight, but you’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow.”
”Sir, yes Sir.”
Master had removed her bedroom and bathroom doors, now allowing her to be seen at all times. She was permitted to remove her uniform, sleeping in full lingerie with a flimsy, see through, ruffled babydoll nightgown. Beside her bed was an electric bell, which she would answer if Master were to need anything during the night. After turning down the Master’s bed, fluffing his pillow, and making sure Master had everything he needed, she was allowed to lock the front door, turn out all the downstairs lights, and go to bed. She tossed and turned for a bit, not used to her new sleepwear, but within fifteen minutes she was sleeping like a little girl after a full day of play, dreaming that this might happen to her...
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Maddy
- 28.12.2022
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