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My Day As The Maid free porn video
My Day as the Maid
by Emily Ross
I wake up about 6.45 and remember it's Sunday - the day that my
wife Leah and I had been planning so carefully. She is still
sound asleep as I quietly and carefully slip out of bed and head
for the bathroom.
I apply some hair removal cream to my body. I am not very hairy
so I only need a little on my chest and stomach. Then I do my
legs. Leah doesn't like me shaving them. I keep my armpits
shaven most of the time so I don't need to do them. Fortunately
my arms aren't very hairy at all.
I need to wait around ten minutes for the cream to work. In the
meantime I shave with a new razor, closer and more carefully
than I've ever done before - even closer than when my company
had put on a special dinner for me in honour of me breaking the
annual sales record.
Having finished shaving I step into the shower, washing away the
cream and with it, the hairs from my body. Now I dry myself
carefully, patting myself with the towel and then wrapping it
around my torso - not just around my waist - I pad into the
spare room.
Nobody sleeps here unless we have a visitor, which is rare. Last
night I transferred all the stuff I need this morning into this
room - underwear, uniform, shoes, make-up, wig, everything.
When I'm putting on my male clothes I'm really slapdash, giving
my hair a token comb, barely checking that my tie is the right
length or that it doesn't clash with my shirt. When I'm in my
femme mode, I get dressed slowly, treasuring every item of
clothing, endlessly inspecting myself to make sure I have put
everything on just right, vainly admiring myself in the mirror
with each new item.
But then the two sides of my personality could hardly be more
different. My male side dresses conservatively in grey suits,
blue shirts and tasteful ties. He wouldn't be seen dead in
anything less than 100 per cent cotton.
My female side on the other hand dresses in skimpy garments that
might seem one size too small. She loves stretchy tops made out
of materials such as elastane, polyester, viscose or nylon.
"Come on, girl," I say to myself. I remove the towel and pull on
a pair of stretchy black nylon panties. They will keep my man
bits firmly in check. Already I feel good. It is like I've
flicked a switch and I have gone into happy mode. I admire the
panties in the mirror, shuddering a little. Am I cold? Or
nervous?
I pick up my black basque and step into it, tugging it up by the
shoulder straps - experience had shown me that this is much
easier than pulling it over my head or trying to do up dozens of
hooks and eyes. I check in the mirror that the basque was in
just the right place. In truth it is a little too small for me -
one of the problems of not being able to try it on in the
lingerie shop when I bought it for my 'girlfriend.'
I don't mind it being tight. It gives me a nice shape, the
elastic keeping my stomach in and the padded cups giving me
small breasts. It was tight though. Every time I wear it, it
leaves marks on my skin when I take it off.
I tuck the four suspender straps through my panties. Then I pick
up the black fishnet stockings I've got ready the night before
and carefully pull them up my legs, one at a time and attach
them to the suspender clasps.
The stockings are an inch or two too short really but the
suspender straps are perfectly long enough. I easily fasten the
front suspenders to the fishnets but the ones at the back are
much harder and more fiddly. Carefully, patiently, I manage to
do them up. Time for another glance in the mirror.
"Do I look hot or what?" I thought.
Emily is my femme name. Quite a girly name I think. Only my wife
knows about Emily. I've never shared Emily with anyone else and
I wouldn't want to. Sometimes I fantasise that it would be fun
for Emily to go outside. Then I have a reality check...
And now. The French maid's dress. "Oh yes," I think as I pick it
up. I bought it especially for this day. Mail order of course,
over the Internet from a lovely site I discovered. You can't buy
outfits like this in the usual High Street fashion shops - shiny
and black with yards of white lace trimming.
It wasn't cheap but it wasn't too expensive.
I pull it over my head and tug the lacy hem down. I adjust the
dress around my waist until I am satisfied that it is perfect.
I am thankful that it is not too short. About four or five
inches above the knee, maybe six. It will hide my stocking tops,
except when I bend or sit down, of course. I will have to be
very careful.
Then I pick up the white frilly apron and tie it round my waist.
I swing the bow to the back and look in the mirror. The uniform
was worth every penny. I look so femmy already. I could come now
and I'm not a quarter ready yet.
What next? Jewellery! A crucifix necklace, a bracelet on one
wrist, a ladies watch on the other. Then a little anklet, three
or four rings on my fingers and then a pair of clip on earrings.
I love them. Finally a little necklace. It's so fiddly. Can I do
up the clasp? Only with difficulty. How does that look? Very
nice, though I say so myself.
What about the shoes? I step into my ridiculously high black
stilettos. What was I thinking off when I bought these? They're
uncomfortable and difficult to walk in. I'll never be able to
keep these on all day! But they look great.
I kick them off again as it's make-up time. Not too tarty, I
tell myself. Leah won't like it too tarty. To tell the truth
Leah's not keen on me wearing a dress and make-up but she
tolerates it as long as I don't do it too often and I don't
dress like a cheap whore. As if...
I go back to the bathroom with my box of potions; the beard
cover, the lip liner, the cherry red lipstick, the translucent
powder, the liquid eye-liner - careful with that, girl - the
mascara, the blusher and the eye shadow. I love it all and after
each application I study myself and check it looks OK. I give
myself the seal of approval and head back to the spare room that
I've been using as my dressing room. I paint my nails a rich red
colour and wait for the varnish to dry.
Now for the pi?ce de resistance - the platinum blonde bob wig
with a fringe. I put it on and stand in front of the mirror with
the hairbrush. I pull it this way and that, I brush over it and
under it, I tease it here and there and spray it with hair
spray. Of course, I'm not a natural blonde but actually the
colour looks OK, though I say so myself. Then I fix the little
maid's cap on the top of my head with a couple of hairpins. I
step back into the shoes.
How do I look? G-or-geous. No I'm not passable - too tall but I
don't look too bad. How about a quick ... ?
No girl, you've got work to do. As quietly as I can, I totter
out of the spare room, past our bedroom - Leah still seems to be
sound asleep - and down the stairs. I'm gripping the banister as
tightly as I can as a small stumble in these heels could be
spell disaster.
I love the feeling of walking downstairs in this dress. It
billows with every step, a rush of cool air attacking my bare
thighs above the stocking tops. The suspenders pull with every
step and the tight basque makes breathing uncomfortable but I
love it.
I love it.
The hair of the wig sways and bounces with each step and I toss
my head back and send the tresses behind my shoulders. How
feminine. I can honestly say that I've never felt better.
I pause to admire myself again in the hall mirror. What a vain
girl I am.
In the kitchen I put the kettle on and raid the fridge. I get
out bacon, eggs, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. I cut slices
of bread to fry. Within a few minutes heavenly smells of fresh
coffee and fried breakfast pervade the room.
Soon I have it all ready for Leah on a tray: coffee, OJ, the
full English and of course, the Sunday paper. Slowly and
carefully in my heels, I carry the tray upstairs. Trying to hold
the tray in one hand, I tentatively knock on Leah's bedroom door
with the other.
"Come in," I hear her say. I push open the door. Leah is lying
in bed wearing a lovely silk pink nightie. I wish I had one like
that. She smiles when she sees me - I hope that she is not
laughing at me.
"Good morning, ma'am," I say in a quiet servile voice. "Would
you care for breakfast?"
"Good morning, Emily," she replies. "Thank you. I am a little
hungry." She sits up in the bed and I place the tray on her lap.
"Thank you, Emily," Leah says.
I tuck one leg behind the other and bob down in a little
curtsey. "Is there anything else I can do for you, ma'am?" I ask
her.
"Not at the moment, thank you," she replies.
I pirouette through 180 degrees and make my exit from the room,
taking short steps in my high heels and placing one foot
directly in front of the other so that my arse wiggles as I
walk. I don't suppose that Leah is looking. She has probably
already picked up the newspaper and is reading the main story.
I close the door behind me and go downstairs. I sip my coffee
but there is no cooked breakfast for me. My basque is tight
enough as it is.
There is a mountain of ironing waiting for me, mainly my (male)
shirts but also some jeans and sweatshirts as well as some of
Leah's clothes, blouses and a couple of skirts. Normally I hate
ironing but in my maid's uniform and high heels I love it. I get
out the iron and plug it in. I set up the ironing board and turn
the radio on quietly so as not to disturb Leah. I sing along
with some of the songs as I iron the clothes.
Thirty or forty minutes pass in a flash. I have forgotten all
about my wife upstairs when I hear the tinkling of a little
bell. This is the signal for the maid. I only have a couple of
things left to do but I turn off the iron and mince back
upstairs.
I knock on Leah's bedroom door again.
"Come in," I hear her say again.
I push open the door. "You rang, madam?"
"Yes, Emily." She is still in bed, still in her nightie. She has
eaten all the breakfast and drunk the coffee and juice. "I'd
like some more coffee, please."
"Certainly, ma'am." I curtsey, then pick up the tray, turn and
wiggle out as before leaving my wife still studying the
newspaper. I go downstairs, boil the kettle again, wash up while
the kettle is boiling and then make another cup of coffee. I
carry it upstairs and knock on the bedroom door again.
"Come in," I hear her say a third time.
I push open the door. "Your coffee, madam."
"Put it here beside the bed," she says indicating the bedside
table. I sashay over to the edge of the bed, place the cup where
instructed and bob in another curtsey. "Come here," Leah says.
"A little closer."
I'm standing right next to the bed. I am sure that you are
wondering if it is humiliating standing in front of your wife in
a French maid's outfit, waiting on her hand and foot, totally
subservient and submissive. Yes, it is humiliating but it is
also pleasurable. Under the folds of nylon, my penis is hot and
hard.
Suddenly Leah puts out a hand and starts to stroke my leg,
rising higher and higher until she reaches my stocking tops. But
she does not stop there. I stand still as she feels the inside
of my bare thighs above my stockings before grabbing the
material of my panties and pulling them down to my knees.
Freed of any constraints caused by the panties, my wife's hand
returned up my dress until she reached my private parts. I am in
ecstasy as she strokes my member. "You have such a lovely clit,"
she says.
"Thank you, ma'am," I reply in a low voice. I am so excited; I
am very close to coming.
Suddenly she takes her hand away. "You naughty girl," she says
to me crossly. "You don't want to make a mess of your new dress.
Now pull your knickers up and get on with your work."
Slightly crest-fallen, but knowing that the excitement would
continue, I bend and pull up my panties, giving Leah a full view
of my suspenders as I did so. Then a quick curtsey and I wiggle
out of the room and back to the ironing.
I quickly finish the ironing, carry the clothes upstairs to the
bedroom and hang my shirts in my wardrobe. Lazy Leah is still in
bed but who wouldn't be if they had a full-time maid to do all
the chores?
"Emily," she says as I finish hanging her blouses in her
wardrobe. "Can you get some clothes out for me to wear today?"
"Certainly, madam," I say curtseying again. "Anything in
particular?"
"No, I'll let you choose. You have such good dress sense."
"Thank you, ma'am."
I try to decide quickly what Leah should wear. She won't be
going out today, so I can more or less choose anything;
trousers, jeans, a skirt or a dress. It's interesting that since
I told Leah of my little cross-dressing hobby and since I showed
her the short skirts I like to wear, Leah has started buying
shorter skirts, tighter tops and higher heels. She's taken to
wearing more striking makeup. She'd never wear mascara or
eyeliner before she found out I wore it. Now it was commonplace.
I take a tartan mini-skirt from her wardrobe and a semi see-
through black top. It would look good with dark tights and black
stilettos. I find a black bra and matching panties and arrange
them all on the end of the bed ready for when she gets up. I
curtsey and leave the room to return to my housework.
"Oh, Emily, please run my bath for me," she calls out as I leave
the room.
I turn and curtsey to my mistress. "Very good, ma'am."
I wiggle out to the bathroom and run the water, testing with my
elbow that it isn't too hot or too cold for Leah. The bath takes
five minutes or so to fill and I wait patiently before turning
off the taps. Normally in this situation I might shout out,
"Bath's ready." But I can't now. I am the maid. I can't shout at
my mistress. I totter back to the bedroom where Leah is still in
bed.
"Your bath is ready, ma'am," I tell her with a curtsey.
"Thank you, Emily."
I wiggle back out and go back downstairs and finish the ironing.
Then I check the dainty watch on my wrist. Is it quarter to
eleven already? I'd better start thinking about the lunch - the
traditional Sunday roast. I go to the kitchen, turn on the oven
to get hot and start peeling the potatoes. I get the meat out of
the fridge and put it in the oven before putting the potatoes on
to boil.
While the lunch is cooking, I clean up the kitchen. I clean the
sink, wipe every work surface and polish the table. I hoover the
floor and tidy everything away. It is all spotless for my
mistress.
I lay two places at the table for my mistress and me and then
prepare the sprouts. At the pre-arranged time of one o'clock on
the dot, I am carving the joint and serving the food as Leah
comes into the room.
She looks incredibly sexy in her tartan mini-skirt. In truth, it
is a little too short but who cares? Her black bra is visible
through her top. She has a great body and lovely long legs. Not
only do I admire her outfit but I am a little envious until I
remember that I am wearing my favourite outfit.
In her stilettos, she is nearly as tall as me. Her makeup is
subtle but striking. It is hard to take my eyes off her. I
curtsey. "Lunch is ready, madam. Please sit down."
She examines the dining table. "Why have you laid two places?"
she asks crossly.
"For you and me," I answer.
"A servant can't sit at the same table as her mistress."
"Sorry, ma'am, I thought..."
"Well you thought wrong. Take one place away," she orders.
I curtsey. "Yes, ma'am. Very good, ma'am." This role play is
getting very realistic. I scurry to the table and remove my
knife, fork, spoon and glass. "Please sit down, ma'am," I say
embarrassed by my mistake.
"You're such a stupid girl, Emily," my mistress says as I serve
the lunch. I go to the oven to put my lunch in it to keep it
warm. "No," my wife says angrily, "stand behind me, ready to
serve me. Now pour me some wine."
I take the wine bottle and pour a glass for my mistress. Then I
hover behind her waiting for her every whim, refilling her
glass, serving her with more meat, taking away her plate when
she has finished.
I am hungry, I've been humiliated and the stilettos are
beginning to make my ankles feel sore but I am loving it,
dressed as I am as the maid. "Come here," Leah orders.
I walk over to where she sits. She turns to face me. Looking me
in the eye she reaches up under my dress and pulls my panties
down again. "I don't want you to wear panties this afternoon,"
she says. The panties fall to the floor and I casually step out
of them as Leah puts her hand up my dress again and grabs my
hard manhood. Then she tenderly massages my balls. It is
incredibly sexy and for the second time that day I am within an
ace of coming when she withdraws her hand saying, "Now, Emily,
we don't want you to make a mess of that lovely dress, do we?"
I don't care about the state of my dress any longer. But it is
not my decision. I am just the maid. "No, madam," I say,
frustrated.
"And I don't want you playing with yourself this afternoon or
I'll make you wear that cage." The cage was a ghastly chastity
device that Leah had bought me as a birthday present. Some
present. I hadn't worn it yet - I'd only tried it on. It was a
solid wire device. Locked in place with a small padlock, it
covered my sexual organs, preventing me from touching myself.
"No, ma'am, I won't play with myself," I promised. I pick up my
panties form the floor.
"Thank you for the lunch. I am going into the living room to
watch a video," Leah announced.
At last I could have my lunch. After little breakfast, I'm
starving. I don't know if servants are allowed to have wine but
I don't ask Leah. I simply pour myself a glass. I sit down and
eat the lunch before clearing everything away and doing the
washing up. A maid's duties are never done.
I hear the tinkle of a bell and head for the living room. My
wife/mistress is in there smiling. "Emily," she says, "I have
bought you a little present." She hands me a small package that
I start to open.
"Thank you, ma'am," I say curtseying. I try to unwrap the
present as carefully as I can, curious about its contents. I see
some pink shiny material and then some white lace. Then I pull
out a dress, a pink satin French maid's dress with tons of
frilly lace. It is gorgeous.
"In some households, the maid wears pink for informal wear and
black for formal occasions. Do you like it?"
Like it? It's gorgeous. How did Leah know that I longed for a
pink maid's dress? "Oh yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," I repeat
as I do a little curtsey.
"Perhaps you'd like to try it on now." I need no second
invitation. I head upstairs with the package containing the new
dress. I go to the spare room and finish opening the present.
There is also a pair of matching pink panties and a lacy
petticoat in there. I take off the black maid's dress. Then I
remove the black fishnets that wouldn't go with the pink outfit.
I put on plain stockings and attach them to the suspenders. Then
I put on the panties and the petticoat. Next I put on the new
dress before putting the white frilly apron and the maid's cap
back on. I settle for the same shoes as before. I look in the
mirror. Dreamy. I look fantastic. Even better than before -
something I thought impossible.
I head for the bathroom and check my makeup. Do I need to shave
again? Not yet, I think but I will need to do so later. I touch
up my lipstick and spray a little perfume on my wrists. I totter
back downstairs to show my mistress.
I go into the living room and my mistress sees my new girly
uniform.
"Wow, you look great," she says. "Come here."
I go over to join her and she starts to feel up my dress again.
She feels up my petticoat until she reaches my pink panties.
"Ugh, what's this," she says in mock horror. Then I realise that
she isn't joking. "I told you that I don't want you to wear
panties this afternoon," she says. "Who said you could wear
panties?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I just thought you wanted me to wear them as
part of the outfit."
"Stupid girl," she says in a loud voice, nearly shouting at me.
"I distinctly told you not to wear panties this afternoon. And
now you've disobeyed me. You're a naughty girl. What are you?"
"A naughty girl, ma'am," I whisper.
"You've been disobedient. You got the lunch wrong too. I'll have
to punish you," she says. I think she's taking this role play
too seriously. She orders me, "Take your panties off." I hitched
up my dress and petticoat and rather awkwardly in my very high
heels, I peel off my pink panties. As I adjust the dress and
petticoat again, I'm smoothing the dress out when I notice Leah
is holding in her hand a riding crop. Where did she get that
from?
"Bend over the chair," she says pointing at the armchair. She
can't be serious, can she? She's not really going to hit me, is
she? Perhaps I should put my foot down and refuse. But I am the
maid. I have to obey her, all day. It was my idea for God's
sake. I kneel down in front of the armchair.
She walks over to me and lifts the hem of my dress at the back.
Then she lifts up the petticoat. My girlie arse is on display.
"You mustn't disobey me. You're a naughty girl. What are you?"
"A naughty girl, ma'am," I reply.
"This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you," Leah
says.
I've never understood that. She's going to hit my arse with a
riding crop and she says it will hurt her. I brace myself.
Whack. The crop hits my backside with a sharp sting. I flinch
and let out a girlish scream. "Owww."
I hope that is the end of my punishment but of course it isn't.
Whack. She hits me a second time. Even though I know what's
coming, it still hurts a lot and I scream again. Whack. I'm hit
for the third time. It's really painful. I am crying. There are
tears streaming down my face.
There's no doubt who's in charge. Leah is dominant and I'm
submissive. Please, please, stop, I think but I daren't tell
her. All I did wrong was wear a pair of shiny pink panties.
"OK, that's enough," Leah says. I hope that she's noticed the
state I'm in and has shown compassion. I stand up and start to
straighten out my petticoat and dress again, when I notice that
I have a massive hard-on. I hope that Leah hasn't noticed the
strange effect her punishment has had on me but I am pretty sure
that she noticed even before I did!
"Now, go up to your room for an hour," Leah says. "I'll call you
when you can come down."
She's treating me like a little kid, I think to myself. Hurt,
humiliated, sore with tears dripping off my cheeks and my
mascara ruined, I hobble upstairs and collapse on the spare room
bed. I lie on my stomach as to lie on my back would be very
painful. I'm still crying and yet my manhood is like a rock.
I resist the urge to seek pleasure in gratification, shut my
eyes and fall asleep. My sleep is only broken by my mistress.
She has come into the room, lifted the hem of my dress and my
petticoat and is rubbing some soothing cream into my butt
cheeks.
I love her massaging my bare arse but it's still really sore.
"You've had enough rest, Emily. You've got work to do. You need
to clean all the basins, change the bed linen and wash the
sheets, polish the silver, dust all the shelves and clean the
windows. And make sure that you redo your makeup first."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
She was right. There still was a lot of work to do. Clean the
basins, change the bed, wash the sheets, polish the silver, dust
the shelves - no problem. But clean the windows? I couldn't do
that, could I? The neighbours would see me. I'd start on the
basins.
I stand up stiffly and curtsey to my mistress. "Very good,
ma'am." I wiggle to the bathroom, the silk of the petticoat
rubbing against my raw arse. I decide to remove all my make up,
shave again and then redo the makeup. I take my time - with
luck, it may be dark before I start on the windows.
After fifteen minutes of making myself pretty, my mistress
appears and starts reproving me. "Don't you know you've got work
to do? Don't waste time. Get back to work. I need a cup of tea."
I hurriedly finish my face and head for the kitchen. I make a
cup of tea for Leah and open a packet of biscuits. I carry a
tray into the living room where Leah is relaxing. She is all
sweetness and light as I hand her the cup.
"Thank you, Emily," she smiles. I curtsey. My backside is still
very sore. I set to work on the basins, then strip the bed and
put the sheets in the washer. I remake the bed, go back
downstairs and polish the silver. By the time I have dusted all
the shelves it is six thirty and I hear the tinkling of the
bell.
I rush as fast as my stilettos will allow to the living room
where I find Leah sitting in the reclining chair watching some
dumbed-down TV show. I curtsey. "Oh, Emily," she says when I go
in, "I'm feeling a little peckish. I'd like some cheese on
toast. OK?"
Back to the kitchen I scurry and make some cheese on toast for
my mistress and me. I take hers to her and then return to the
kitchen to eat mine. Afterwards I make Leah coffee as instructed
which she drinks while I wash up and clear everything away. The
kitchen again looks absolutely spotless. I check my watch. It's
nearly ten to eight. I've been on the go all day apart from an
hour or so in the afternoon and my ankles are beginning to hurt
more than my sore arse.
I hear another tinkle from my mistress's bell.
"You rang, madam?" I say as I enter the living room and curtsey.
And guess what. Leah is sitting in her chair wearing an
identical outfit to mine. Pink dress, white pinafore, white cap,
plain stockings and black stilettos. They say that great minds
think alike. She was gorgeous before in her little tartan skirt
and see-through top but now she is looking even more fantastic.
"I know it's been a long day for you, Emily, so I thought you
I'd give you a little reward. I wondered if you, er, needed any
help with the housework."
I smile at her. "Why, thank you, ma'am, and if you don't mind me
saying so, that dress really suits you. I hope you like wearing
it as much as I do mine," I say with a curtsey.
"Oh, come here and stand next to me," she commands.
"Yes, ma'am."
I mince over to her chair and stand next to her as she slips a
hand up my dress. But instead of grabbing my hard penis as I
might have expected, her fingers start stroking the crack of my
arse through my satin panties.
"She's never felt me here before," I think to myself. I am
getting very turned on as one of her fingers enters my arse.
"What a pretty little sissy hole," she says. "Do you love me
feeling your little sissy hole?"
I nod.
"No say it," she says. "Tell your mistress that you love her
feeling your little sissy hole."
"I ...? I love you feeling my little sissy hole, ma'am," I say.
I can now feel two of her fingers penetrating my arse. It is
both painful and pleasurable at the same time.
"And do you love having something in your little sissy hole?"
"Yes, ma'am, I love having something in my little sissy hole."
"And would you like to feel up my dress?"
"Of course I would, ma'am. You look so sexy."
Leah takes her hand away, stands up and curtseys to me. "I know
that it is wrong to fraternise with the servants but you have
worked so hard today, Emily."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She puts her arms around me and hugs me tight. The next thing I
know our lips are locked in a kiss. Her hand is inching up under
my dress and this time feeling my rock hard manhood. Likewise my
hand is groping under her dress and feeling her warm, moist
clit.
The two maids soon head upstairs and shag themselves silly in an
evening of passionate sex. The perfect end to the perfect day.
Oprah
- 03.02.2022
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