Maid For The Job - Chapter One free porn video

Maid for the Job Prologue It all started when I read an advert in a paper asking for home help. I applied for the job and was offered an interview. I found the house and turned up the long drive. Parking up in front of the large house I was met by the lady of the house. After the basic introductions she explained the situation; only she and her husband lived in the house full time as their two daughters and son were at university. As the children had all left home, albeit on a temporary basis, she had taken up a new position at her old company and no longer had time to maintain the house. They needed someone who could look after the housework, but who is also able to do some gardening and maintenance. From my past I had all the required skills. After the conversation I am walked the around the house and grounds. The house had six bedrooms, three bathrooms, three reception rooms, a study, a kitchen and a basement. The grounds were equally impressive with a double garage, shed, conservatory and pool complex with gym, sauna and Jacuzzi. As we walked around I reflected that this is a lot for one person to do. The lady of the house agreed and indicated that should I need it, additional help would be appointed. Back in the conservatory we sat and had tea, and I was offered the job. I wanted to jump at the chance but thought it better to be a little harder to get and asked if there were any conditions attached to the post. I was informed that I would be expected to live on site in the newly converted attic room. She also said that she expected me to wear clothing appropriate to the tasks that I would be expected to do each day. I asked her about buying these before hand, and she informed me that I would not be expected to pay for the uniforms myself as she would provide them. I asked her about a wage. She said that on top of the work clothes that I will be provided with, the accommodation and the food, I would be paid ?800 a month. When she asked if I had any other questions I said no and she again offered me the job. This time I accepted and we agreed a start date in a fortnight. Before I left she took my measurements so the uniforms could be made to measure for me. She measured everything from my head to my feet. Well almost everything! With a couple of days to go I started sorting out my affairs ready to move out of my shared house. Most of my 'things' I took to my parents' house to leave in their attic, although I did keep some books, my stereo and music and most of my clothes, although as I'm to be given uniforms to work in I left my rough clothes behind. Chapter One I turn up on the Monday morning as arranged by taxi to be greeted by my new boss. We only have time to drop off my bags, however, as we are due at the outfitters to make the final checks for and pick up my work clothes, so I don't really have a good look around. As we get in the car, I'm told that we won't be going straight to the outfitters as there's something else we need to do first. I ask what and am told that I'll find out in good time. Sometime later we pull up outside a beauty salon and, expecting my boss is just popping in to make an appointment, I suggest that I wait in the car, only to be told that we may be some time so I best come inside. As we get inside, my boss greets the proprietor like an old friend, saying "Here he is." The proprietor looks me up and down. My boss says "How long?" "About two hours," is the reply. As the proprietor says this she takes my hand and leads me towards the back of the salon. I turn to look at my boss and she just waves, saying "See you later." Completely thrown by what is happening, I am led dumbstruck to a small room and told to get undressed and put on the robe that is hanging on the back of the door. With nothing else to do, I strip off and put on the white, cotton robe as instructed. I am just wondering what to do next when the proprietor walks back in. "Have you taken everything off?" she asks. "Yes." "Everything?" "Yes." "In that case you'd better put these on to protect your modesty." She says, passing me a pair of white, cotton briefs. She then leads me to another room. This one is slightly bigger and has a few items of furniture in it, including a waist high, hospital style bed. Also in the room is a young woman who is introduced as Kirsty. "If you take off the robe and lie on the bed, Kirsty will give you the full treatment." "What do you mean by the full treatment." "A full body wax of course. See you later." She leaves, closing the door behind her. Why am I getting a full body wax? Kirsty motions for me to get on the bed so I comply. Over the next hour my legs, arms, chest, back, arm pits and even eyebrows are waxed and plucked. Kirsty then asks me to take off the briefs so she can wax my buttocks. Finally, when the briefs are back on she waxes the bikini line I never realised I had. "Why are you doing all this?" "The lady's orders." An hour later. Completely devoid of hair except my head and pubic region, I put the robe on again, just in time for the proprietor to return. She has a quick check of Kirsty's handiwork and, nodding in approval, leads me to another room. This room is similar to the second, but the table is much lower. Here I am introduced to Sally. "Sally is now going to give you a manicure and pedicure." Before I can ask any questions she turns on her heel and leaves me alone with Sally, closing the door behind her. Like Kirsty, Sally is very chatty, and while she gives me a pedicure she talks about all manner of things. I let it all waft over me, thinking more about what is happening until she says, "What colour would you like?" "Excuse me?" "As part of any pedicure you get a free coat of nail varnish. What colour would you like?" "I'm not sure." "Shall I choose one for you?" "Ok." She chooses a vibrant shade of pink called 'Shocker'. When she's finished she moves on to my hands. "Typical man," she says, "you never look after your nails. I know what I'll do." She then proceeds to clean and file my nails prior to fixing nail extensions on to them. Admittedly they're not talons, but they're longer than I've ever had my nails before. Without asking, she paints them with 'Shocker' as well. I am now completely confused, and when the proprietor leads me away from Sally, I just follow dumbly. Back in the main part of the salon I am introduced to Beatrice, apparently she is to try and do something with my hair. The first step is to wash my unkempt shoulder length hair prior to cutting it. Apparently I have lots of split ends, and by the time Beatrice is finished with it, it is about four inches shorter and just under my ears. Just as Beatrice finishes my boss walks in. I stand up and make as if to talk. She puts a finger up to her lips. "Questions later. For now let me look at you." She seems happy with what she sees and sends me to get dressed again. Alone in the small room, putting my boxer shorts, jeans and T-shirt back on, I am struck by two things, firstly how rough my clothes feel on my newly waxed body and secondly, how difficult it is to get dressed properly with the long nails. As I walk back out into the salon, Kirsty, Sally and Beatrice are all standing there waiting to say goodbye. "See you again soon", they say, and I look back sheepishly. My boss has had to park around the corner because there were no spaces free in front of the salon. As we walk I grow increasingly self-conscious about the bright pink varnish on my long nails, and the fact that my hair is in a relatively feminine bob. With my well-plucked eyebrows I am sure passers-by must be staring. I express my concern to my boss, but she just tells me to stop worrying and keep up. Getting back in the car I relax; at least in here no one can see that I look like a freak. As we pull out into the flow of traffic, my boss catches me looking at my new fingernails. "They look great, don't they? Just wait until your real nails are that long." I just grunt in reply. "What's wrong? Don't you like the colour?" "It's not that. It's just that I can't understand why I've just spent the morning in a beauty salon having beauty treatments like a woman." "We only had time for a short visit this morning, you can spend all day there another time." "That's not what I meant! Why have you made me do this?" "Made you? I can't recall anyone forcing anything on you." While I reflect on this, she carries on, "Plus the fact, when was the last time you spent any time looking after yourself? Surely it's better to have strong, healthy and neat nails and hair. Anyway, you would look a bit silly in the uniform if you hadn't had this done." This makes me start. "What do you mean?" "Well the range of uniforms I've had made for you have a very specific look, and if the wearer does not look right, the whole thing looks stupid. You don't want to spend all your working days looking stupid do you?" "No. I suppose not." "Well, let's not hear any more complaints then." I lapse into an uneasy silence, not really sure about what is happening. I'm not angry, just a little confused. After all, she's right, I can't recall the last occasion I spent any time pampering myself. Some time later we pull up into the driveway of a large detached house. As we get out of the car, a plump woman comes out of the front door and comes up to my boss, giving her a hug and a kiss. She then comes over to me. Holding my shoulders she says, "So you must be the new home help then. I think you'll do nicely. What do they call you?" "Simon." "Not for long," she stares, and flashes a furtive glance at my boss. "I'm Aunt Mary. Right, lets get inside then." Confused and somewhat alarmed by her comment, I follow Aunt Mary and my boss into the house. Closing the door behind us we walk through to a conservatory at the back of the house, where a hot pot of coffee is waiting for us. I am offered a seat and a coffee and then I just sit there while the two ladies talk about this and that. After a while our host puts down her cup and saucer. "Right then, shall we get started." We both follow her upstairs to a large room with wall-to-wall wardrobes, a couple of chairs, a long, large mirror and a screen. "The first thing I want you to do is go behind that screen and get undressed. You will find a pair of black briefs on the stool. Put them on. They will be tight but they should fit you." The way Aunt Mary gives the instruction I can do nothing other than what she says. Behind the screen I slowly get undressed, partly because of my long fingernails, but also because of a growing feeling of trepidation. Once again I notice the changed feeling of having a completely hairless body. The briefs seem far too small, but they are made of strong elastic and eventually I manage to draw them up over my thighs and into place. My manhood is uncomfortably held against my lower abdomen, so I reposition it. When I'm ready I step out around the screen. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm surprised by my androgynous appearance. "Don't get carried away staring at yourself now, you'll spoil the fun later," says Aunt Mary. "Right, let's get a look at you." She comes up close and looks at me. She pulls out a tape measure and begins to measure various parts of my body. She then starts to circle around me, taking more measurements and making small comments to herself. As she walks around, I am again filled with a feeling of trepidation, but I am also intoxicated by her lovely perfume. "Excellent," she says, turning to my boss. "It seems the measurements you took were accurate and the clothes should need very little adjustment. Shall we proceed?" "At your leisure," she replies, languidly. "Shall we go with B, C or D?" Aunt Mary asks. Not knowing what she is talking about, I look blankly at her. "I think we'll start with C for now," my boss answers. "D would look great, but perhaps it's a bit early for them and he'd find it more difficult to get used to them." "C it is then," Mary responds, and walks over to one of the cupboard. She opens a door and then a drawer. After a moment fiddling around, she walks over to me carrying two pink lumps of plastic. She walks behind me, and then putting her arms around me holds two silicone breasts in place. "What do you think?" she asks. "What! Why!" I respond confused. "No, not you. Martha, my dear, what do you think?" "Perfect." "Okay, I'll just get the adhesive." "What adhesive? What are you going to do? I'm not wearing fake breasts!" I protest. Aunt Mary makes to respond, but my boss, or Martha as I have just found out, holds up her hand. "As I said earlier, the range of uniforms I've had made for you have a very specific look, and if the wearer does not look right, the whole thing looks stupid. You don't want to spend all your working days looking stupid do you? If you are telling me you don't want the job anymore, well it's a little late for that. If you do choose to leave my employment, I will expect you to work a month's notice. Until then as I am paying you, I call the shots. Understood?" "Yes," I reply weakly, determined that as soon as I can write a letter of resignation I will. "Please continue," Martha motions to Aunt Mary, "and ignore any of his protests." Aunt Mary applies some adhesive to the back of the breasts and walks over to me. She holds them up in front of my chest, and when she is satisfied, she pushes them on to me. "Hold them there while I go and get a bra, and hold them good otherwise you'll have wonky tits for the next week." "Week?" I question. "Yes, that's how long the glue lasts for. You have to remember to take them off, clean them and re-glue them every week otherwise you might have an unfortunate incident where something falls off." She returns with a simple, satin, underwired, black bra. She does it up around my chest, then one at a time she eases the cups around the breast forms. I am left staring at myself in the mirror. This time I am looking the feminine side of androgynous. How on earth have I got in this situation? I haven't even seen the uniforms yet, or started my duties, but here I am with a body denude of hair, shocking pink nail extensions and what at best could be described as a unisex hair style. Some woman I have never met has just glued fake breasts to my chests and made me wear a bra, and I seemingly have no choice. What are these two women trying to do to me? All I wanted was a job. "Before we check the fitting of the uniforms, we will have to do something about that figure of yours. This should help." She produces a simple black corset, and clips it loosely around my torso. "Now I want you to hold on to that handle directly above your head." For the first time I notice a wooden handle, like you'd use for water- skiing, suspended from the ceiling. I am sure this one has nothing to do with water skiing, however. I do as I'm told, and as soon as I do, Aunt Mary starts pulling the ribbons at the back of the corset. She pulls them tight, constricting my waist, and just as I think she's about to tie them off, she pulls them even tighter. She then ties them off and tells me to let go of the handle. As I drop my arms I think I am going to faint. The pain is immense. As I think I am about to collapse, Aunt Mary brings the stool from behind the screen and tells me to sit down. She then produces a pair of stockings and proceeds to roll them up my smooth and hairless legs, attaching them to the suspenders hanging down from the corset. "Don't worry about the pain, dear," she says soothingly, you'll get used to it soon." I grunt, wanting to say that I don't plan on getting used to it, but I dare not say it out loud for fear of being admonished. Standing up again, I try to regain my composure. I look in the mirror again. This time my figure is definitely feminine. "Now we're ready for the uniforms. Which one do you want to see first, the day uniform, the evening uniform or the function uniform?" I keep my mouth shut, dreading what's to come. I am now resigned to the fact that for the next month at least it appears I will be working dressed as a woman. I can only hope that these 'uniforms' they keep talking about are more comfortable than the corset. 'Let's go for the evening and then the function uniform," Martha suggests. "We can then take the corset off and finish with the day uniform. I think it would be a bit unfair to make him wear the corset all day." "As you wish, dear," replies Aunt Mary. "But I would have been a bit stricter." Overhearing this dialogue, I count my blessings that my mistress does have some common sense at least. The evening uniform turns out to be a white satin blouse, a mid-thigh length black fitted skirt and a pair of black patent court shoes in a heel of about 2 inches. Aunt Mary finishes off the uniform by tying a small white satin apron around my waist. "I expect you to wear this uniform every evening as you serve me, and anyone else in the family, dinner. Walk up and down a little." I follow Martha's instructions and attempt to walk around the room a little. It's obvious that I've never walked in heels before and it will take some getting used to. I manage to return to my position, and in doing so catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. While I look unmistakeably feminine, I can still tell it's a man in women's clothes. I just hope I don't have to go out dressed like this. Satisfied with what she has seen, my mistress instructs Aunt Mary to undress me and try on the next uniform. Soon I am standing there in panties, bra, corset and stockings, waiting for the next item of clothing. When Aunt Mary returns from the wardrobe, I am shocked, but not surprised. Firstly she takes off my stockings and replaces them with fishnet stockings. She then gives me another pair of panties to put on. These are black satin with a smooth front and white frills on the bottom. She then holds out the dress, a traditional French maids outfit. Aunt Mary lowers it over my head then adjusts the ties on the bodice to fit my false chest. The sleeves are short and the skirt even shorter, clearly displaying the girlish panties I am wearing. Again a white satin apron is tied around my waist, and this time a small white headdress is fixed to my hair with Kirby grips. Aunt Mary then gets me to sit down to put the footwear on. This time, rather than 2 inch court shoes, I have to wear four inch calf length boots which tie up. By the time she is finished I am trussed up like a chicken and find it difficult to stand up. Standing there in front of these two women I feel ridiculous. This feeling is not made better by catching a look of myself in the mirror. "This is the outfit you will be expected to wear at functions when we have guests. Don't worry if you get tired of black, Aunt Mary has made one in lilac as well for cocktail functions," my mistress informs me. "Now, let me see you walk around a bit." I tentatively take one step forward and fall flat on my face. As I hit the ground two things happen. Firstly the women begin to giggle, secondly I do something I haven't done for years, I start to cry. As I'm sitting on the floor trying to pick myself up, I must look a pathetic sight because even Aunt Mary decides to help pick me up and sit me down. "There, there you poor love. I can tell you're so overcome with the moment. It's not every day that a girl has a dream like this come true," she says. "But I'm not a girl," I blurt out between sobs. "No, of course not, not yet," she replies, handing me a tissue to dab my eyes with. What she says shocks me, but I am too stunned to say anything. The next few moments pass in a blur. I am stripped of the function uniform, the corset and the stockings. The relief of having the corset removed is immense, and I feel strangely comfortable standing there in just my bra and panties. The day time uniform is far more mundane. Over a pair of barely black tights and a black body shaper I am to wear a simple black dress with short sleeves and buttons down to the waist. Again I am expected to wear the obligatory white apron, but this time the footwear is a pair of relatively comfortable 1 inch pumps. In comparison to the clothing I have been subjected to over the last few minutes, this seems positively normal, and I manage to get control of my emotions. My mistress appears to be happy with all that she has seen and instructs me to get undressed and put on my original clothes. I am instructed, however, to keep the black panties and bra on. As I get dressed behind the screen, Aunt Mary starts to pack up my uniforms, and the two women talk about this and that. I am shocked by how normal it all appears to them. I also notice how odd it feels to be putting on my old clothes, they now feel quite uncomfortable. After another cup of coffee, my mistress and I bid farewell to Aunt Mary. She comes over and gives me a big kiss, saying she'll see me again soon. I put all the bags in the boot of the car and climb into the passenger seat like a petulant teenager. We drive along in silence for a while before my mistress says, "How are you feeling?" "How do you expect me to feel," I reply sulkily. "Well considering the expense I've just gone to on your behalf I think you might feel a little grateful." "Grateful that you've made me dress up in women's clothes and look like a freak," I snap back. "Oh that's such a pity, I thought you looked lovely. Mind you I can see what you mean now; you do look a bit of a mess. I know what. I've got an idea about how we can make it all better." Her idea is to stop for a cup of tea and tell me why this is happening to me. I ask if we can stop at somewhere inconspicuous because I am embarrassed by my appearance. We stop at a small tea-room which is empty but open. We sit down, my boss orders two cream teas and then starts to talk. "Since I've started working again, I have not been able to maintain the house as my husband or I would like, and I have needed some home help for a while. When I was talking about it with my husband, he said it was fine to arrange to employ someone, as long as it was not a young man, I don't think he trusts me! However, I didn't want to employ a young girl because I'm not sure he could keep his hands off her so I was in a bit of quandary. I wasn't sure about the solution but I advertised the job anyway. I had given a couple of interviews and had not found anyone suitable, and then you turned up. As we talked, a solution to my problem and arose and this is it. I would employ a young man, but dressed as a girl. That way my husband can trust me, and I can trust him." "You could have told me this before," I replied. "But then you wouldn't have taken the job would you," Martha responded. "I know this is difficult for you, but try it for a month, and if you don't like it you can leave." Reluctantly I agreed, after all I hadn't got any choice. "For now, however, we're going to have to do something about your appearance because you're right, you do look a bit like a man in drag. Do you fancy going shopping?" "Not really. But if it's going to make me look a little better I suppose I should." She pays the bill, and then we leave for a local department store. Getting out of the car and walking through the crowds is the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, but I keep my head down and let her lead me. On entering the store, the first thing she decides to do is give me a make over. Her idea is that this will help me look more feminine so when I am choosing clothes people will be less likely to look. The whole idea appals me, but anything that can make me look less conspicuous is welcome. She chooses a make up stall and I sit down in front of it on a high stool. The attendant asks me what look I would like to try, but thankfully my boss answers for me. I have no idea about make up and don't sound like a girl, so the opportunity to remain silent is welcome. The attendant applies foundation, eye-liner, eye-shadow, mascara, blusher, lip-liner and lip-stick. When she has finished she shows me a mirror. I see a young, nervous looking girl in front of me, and it is only when I raise my eyebrows and the reflection does too, that I realise the young girl is me. The attendant offers me a spray of perfume. I point blindly to a bottle that says 'Eden'. When she sprays it on me, I realise it is the same scent Aunt Mary wears. This is strangely comforting. On the way to the clothing section, Martha informs me that in my new bedroom there is already some clothing, but there are other items that could not be bought until today. Firstly we head of the outerwear section. The main aim is to buy me something to wear home now instead of my tatty jeans and t-shirt. She asks me what I want to wear. Having the option to choose my own female clothes is quite reassuring; at least I know I'm not going to be wearing some bizarre concoction. "I think a simple pair of trousers with a t-shirt, jumper and low shoes would be good," I say tentatively. "I'd rather you didn't wear trousers at all, but I am willing to let you choose some if you let me choose you a nice casual dress as well," she replies. I can't really argue with that so I agree. I choose a pair of flared burgundy trousers with a zip at the back, a white t-shirt and, a white cardigan. I also pick out a pair of white loafers and some of those ankle socks you see worn so much these days. Martha checks my choices and then leads me to the dressing rooms. She offers to go in with me, but I say that I can manage myself. The changing rooms are not much different from the ones I am used to. I remove my old jeans and t-shirt and put on my new outfit. Martha has checked the sizes well and it all fits. The strange thing is, perhaps because it's trousers, I still feel like a man in girl's clothing. Maybe I'll get used to it. What am I saying!? I go out of the changing rooms so that Martha can check my appearance. She likes it so much that she wants to buy them there and then so I can wear them for the rest for the shopping trip. She comes back to the changing room with me. I strip off and sit there waiting while she goes and pays for the outfit. When she is done, she brings it back and I get dressed again. As we go to leave the changing room I stop to pick up my jeans and t-shirt. "Leave them. You don't need them anymore," Martha says as she leads me out by the hand. It's now her turn to choose me an outfit, and her selection is predictably feminine. After trying on a few items, I end up with a knee- length, flowery dress with a floaty skirt, a pale, dusky pink cardigan and a pair of light brown velvety sling-backs with a three inch heel. As I stand outside the changing rooms being 'inspected' by my new boss, I feel very self-conscious, and am somewhat relieved to change back into the more anonymous clothing I chose. I place the dress, cardigan and shoes back in the basket, and start to head towards the cash desk, when Martha says, "Hold on. You need a few more things." "Like what," I reply. "Well a pair of stockings or tights to go with that lovely dress to begin with," I am told, as she takes my hand and leads me towards the place I am dreading to go, the lingerie section. "I have already bought some basic underwear for your daily work, and that's back at the house, but I needed to wait until you had your breasts fitted before buying bras. You can also choose some underwear for when you're off duty as well as some nightwear. You'll buy your own stuff in the future, but it's only fair to start you off with something." I blanch at the idea of choosing my own feminine underwear, but two thoughts occur to me; I am not having to pay for it, and it's only for a month so what the hell. We start by choosing some everyday, cotton, work bras. Martha chooses a simple under-wired style and puts two black and one white in the basket. She then 'invites' me to by a couple of sets of my own choosing. When I am slow to respond, she is, unsurprisingly, keen to assist. Firstly she chooses a cream, lacy set including a wonder bra and suspender belt. She also suggests a couple of thongs and two pairs of knickers to go with them, 'because they wear through quicker'. She then chooses a black satin bra with a matching, deep, boned suspender belt. Again she puts two pairs of knickers and a couple of thongs in the basket. She also adds a couple of sports bras to growing pile of lingerie. "Since you've chosen such lovely suspenders, it would be a shame to get tights, so let's pick out some stockings to go with your dress." 'We' select a couple of pairs of delicate, 'nude' stockings, then move on to the nightwear section, where she suggests I choose two outfits. This time she insists I make the choice, but makes the proviso that I must choose at least one nightdress. I end up selecting a complete matching set that includes a pair of pyjamas, a chemise that reaches just above my knees and a night gown, all in pale blue satin. Finally Martha suggests we a buy a non-under wired bra to go with the nightwear. She points out that when the breasts need to be re-glued, it's a good idea to wear a bra to bed to ensure they set correctly. She looks at me and smiles, saying "Right, time to go home now I think." After paying for the clothes, we head back to the car, squeeze the bags in the already full boot, and start heading to what will be my home for the next month. Although I know where I am going, I am filled with trepidation because I don't know what is going to happen or when I am going to get out of this situation. As we pull up to the house, I am filled with a sense of dread. What is going to happen over the next month? What will I have to do? I only wanted a simple life, working as the home help for a rich family. Not in my weirdest dreams could I have expected to be in the situation I found myself. My boss drove up the long driveway and came to a stop outside the front door. "First things first, we need to get all your new things up to your room," she said. Between the two of us, we just about manage to carry all the bags in one go. She leads me in through the front door and up two flights of stairs before stopping at a rather anonymous looking door. "This is your room," she said as she put the bags down to open the door. She picks up the bags again and enters the room with me trailing behind. She drops the bags she was carrying on the double bed that was in the middle of the room and leaves, 'to give me a chance to get used to my new surroundings and unpack'. The first thing I do is drop the heavy bags I'm carrying. I stand, numbed by the whole experience I have just undergone for a while before I began to take stock of my surroundings. My room is a relatively large double bedroom in the attic of the house. The double bed is flanked by two bedside cabinets. On the side of the bed nearest the door is a chaise longue. On the other side of the room, under the dormer window, is a dressing table and a chest of drawers with a small television on top. At the foot of the bed is a bank of fitted wardrobes with mirrors for doors. Between the wardrobe and the chest of drawers there is a doorway, slightly ajar. I walked over and push the door open to find a bathroom with bath and shower, toilet, basin and a bidet. The whole place is decked out in a very feminine style, with pastel shades and frills all over the place. Investigating further, I open one of the wardrobe doors. As I do so I feel a sense of trepidation, but also a bit naughty, as if I'm looking into someone else's closet, which I suppose I am in a way. If these closets are to be mine, it is not a me I know very well. Behind the door I find a relatively empty closet. On the floor is a pair of rose coloured, fluffy slippers and, rather surprisingly, a pair of trainers. Hanging on the rail is a white bath robe and another black skirt like the one I was told to wear at Aunt Mary's house. On a shelf there are a couple of pairs of what look like towelling hot-pants and some t-shirts. Maybe these are for loafing around, although with the trainers I suspect my boss has got a training regime in mind for me. So far so good, I think to myself. Not sure why really as I'm standing there with long, pink false nails and C cup breasts. I move over to the chest of drawers, dreading what I will find in there. I sit down on the stool in front, and am just about to open a drawer when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrors at the back of the unit. I appear unmistakably feminine, more so than I would have thought possible. The top of the chest of drawers is covered in bowls of make up and bottles of perfume, and in the middle is a small present. I pick it up and read the label. 'Dear Stephanie. Welcome to the household. We hope you enjoy your stay.' I put it down again, assuming it is left over from a previous stay. I open the top drawer of the chest to discover a mass of various types of panties and knickers. Thankfully most of them seem to be in a simple style made out of cotton, although there are two satin and lace thongs in a pastel shade of pink. The next two drawers are empty, but in the bottom drawer there are several pairs of tights mostly in black or barely black. However, there are also a few pairs of stockings in a range of different styles including fishnets, hold-ups, and some delicate 'nude' stockings similar to the pair my boss chose for me in the shop. Gazing into the sad eyes of my reflection, I can't help but wonder what I did to deserve being put in this situation and what is going to happen while I'm here. I sit quietly for a while, not sure of what to make of what I found, before finally deciding that I may as well unpack what is in the bags. I start with the clothes from Aunt Mary, and first out of the bag is the lilac maid's dress she has made for me to wear at cocktail functions. I stand there glumly thinking about the first time that I will have to wear this in public, then hang it up in the wardrobe, followed by the slightly less outrageous black version of the same design. I am just hanging up my normal day-to-day dresses when my boss comes in holding a tray with a couple of cups of tea. "I'm glad you've made a start already. Let's sit down and have a cup of tea, then I'll help you finish your unpacking," she says. I perch on the dressing table stool, while she sits on the chaise longue and starts talking about the room. "I hope you like it? It's quite well equipped, but if there's anything you need, do let us know. I've left the two middle drawers of the chest of drawers free for your bras and your corsetry. There should be enough space in there. If not, there are some more drawers in the end cupboard. I know the cupboards seem quite bare at the moment, but I'm sure they will be full up in no time at all." I sit quietly, not letting on that I hope there won't be a chance for 'no time at all'. "In the bathroom you will find everything a lady needs; shampoo, conditioner, immac, everything. Again, if you need anything immediately let me know; otherwise I'm sure it can wait until you go shopping next. I've also stocked up on some make-up for you. I'm not sure what colours you're going to prefer, but again, if you don't like what you've got, you can always get some more next time you go shopping." I'm becoming increasingly alarmed with the way she is speaking as if this is all perfectly normal and that this situation is going to be a long- term thing. She obviously has different ideas about what's going to happen than me, but when am I going to challenge them? "I see you haven't opened your present yet," she points out. "What present?" I reply dumbly, knowing what the answer is going to be. "The one on the chest of drawers," she replies. "But that's addressed to 'Stephanie'." "Yes I know. We can't very well go round calling you Simon when you look like that can we. The illusion will fail and everyone will know you're a boy rather than thinking you're a beautiful young girl. Of course, if you don't like Stephanie, we could go with something else." I'm about to protest, but I have to admit she is right. I would feel even worse than I already do if she was to call me 'Simon' in front of her guests. Not wishing to appear to be keen to get in on the act I simply reply by saying that 'Stephanie' will be perfectly acceptable. "Well open it then." I open the gift, and inside is a dainty gold ladies watch. Without hesitating I put it on my wrist, surprised at how much smaller than my usual watch it is. I catch myself as I think how I quite like the way it looks. When we finish the tea, we carry on unpacking. My work skirt and blouses go in the wardrobe, as do my new dress and shoes. While I'm doing this, my boss is unpacking my new underwear and putting in the chest of drawers, all the while saying things like, "I bet you can't wait to get into these", and "I should have bought some for myself." All the while I quietly carry on with the unpacking. I am just about to hang up my night-clothes when my boss stops me. "Hold on," she says, "don't forget you need to wear something in bed tonight. Which is it to be?" I stand there holding the pyjamas in one hand and the chemise in the other, thinking that I don't want to wear either of them, but I know which one she'd rather I wear. Slowly I look up at her, and thinking about what she wants of me, I hold out the chemise saying, "This one." She smiles, saying "Excellent choice. Well you may as well leave that one out and don't forget the soft bra to go with it as well. Stay here, I shall be back in a moment." I do as I'm instructed, then sit down on the edge of the bed when everything is done and let out a long sigh. 'Stay here'! Where else am I going to go dressed like this? After a couple of minutes my boss returns carrying the bags I had brought with me. She puts them on the bed. "I hope you'll forgive me, but while you were unpacking, I had a sneak through the bags you brought with you. I have taken out all the boy's clothes and have stored them safely, the rest I have left in the bags so you can unpack and store your belongings as you see fit. Rather than cooking tonight I thought we'd get a take out. What do you prefer? Is Chinese alright?" I nod to indicate that yes, Chinese will be fine. "Right, I'll leave you to finish your unpacking. I'll call for you when the dinner arrives." Sitting on the edge of the bed I hold my head in my hands. How could I have got in this situation. How am I going to get out of it? I can't very well escape looking as I am, even if I did get to any of my friends or family they would ridicule me. Besides, it's only for a month, I'm getting paid on top of my board and lodging, and I suppose I wont be wearing out any of my normal clothes while I'm trapped here dressed like this. It could be worse. Could it? I finish unpacking my new items of clothing and my old bags. Once I have done everything I stow the bags underneath the bed and stand there wondering what to do next. As I look around the room, I see myself reflected in the mirror I look myself up and down and realise I've got in a real mess with all the unpacking and stowing of bags. I'm covered in dust, my hands are dirty and my hair is all over the place so I head for the bathroom. While I'm washing my hands I have a closer look around. The bathroom has been fully stocked with everything a girl could want. Around the bath there's the usual shampoo, conditioner, shower-gel and soap, but also various things to make the bath smell nice. In the drawers around the sink there is an electronic lady shaver and hair remover, as well as the more regular manual versions, razor and tweezers. There's make-up remover, hair remover, moisturiser and all manner of other potions and tools to make a girl look pretty. It's amazing how much is required. As I brush my hair in the mirror, I find myself hoping that my boss doesn't want me to use all this stuff because I haven't got the first clue where to start. The t-shirt I'm wearing is covered in dust so I decide to get a new one out of the wardrobe and change into it. As I pull the dirty t-shirt over my head I am reminded of my new situation by the unfamiliar feel of the bra encasing my very own breasts. Standing in front of the mirrored wardrobe and looking at my reflection I still can't quite believe that they're fake. As I'm standing there looking at myself, my boss walks into the room. My first instinct is to bring my arms up across my chest to cover my breasts from view. "Oh hello dear. I'm glad to see you admiring yourself, you should be proud of your breasts, not hide them. It's not like I haven't seen them before." Her chatty manner makes me feel strangely comfortable, and I let my hands fall to my sides. "The dinner has arrived, so put on your top and come and join me. I thought we'd have a TV dinner." I reach into the wardrobe and pick out another plain white t-shirt. A brief look of disappointment crosses my boss' face before she says to follow her downstairs. As I go I glance into the wardrobe and see that the rest of the t-shirts are pastel colours such as pink and baby blue. Perhaps she's disappointed I didn't pick a more feminine coloured t- shirt. So what, it's not my choice to look feminine. I will wear what I want, given the choice I've got! But as I walk I realise that is a silly attitude. She's got me here for a month, determined I will live like a girl. If I try to fight it it's only going to cause problems and what happens when I meet other people, as I'm bound to when she brings them to the house? If I fight it I'll end up looking like a bloke in drag, not a girl and I don't really want to be found out do I? I think it was at this point that I fully resigned myself to my situation, perhaps hoping that if I acceded to her every wish I might be let out early, a bit like parole. "Penny for you thoughts," she says as I'm miles away. "Nothing," I reply quietly. "It's bound to be something," she responds, "but never mind, I'm sure you'll tell me when you want to." In the kitchen we plate up the food and take it into the lounge where there is already a bottle of bubbly chilling. "I thought we'd celebrate tonight," my boss says handing me a glass of champagne. "To a new job and a new start," she says raising her glass and taking a sip. I follow suit before sitting down and starting to tuck into my dinner. I hadn't realised that I was so hungry, but then I had hardly eaten anything all day. The evening passes without much ado. We watch something on TV, my boss makes little chatty comments every now and again, but I say little, just sit there nursing my glass and trying to wonder what this is all about. As the 10 o'clock news finishes, my boss turns to me. "It's been a long day for you, so it's probably a good idea for you to go to bed now. I will expect you to be in the kitchen for breakfast at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. I will prepare breakfast and then we will spend the day familiarising you with the house and the chores that will need doing. I expect you to be wearing your every day uniform. Have you got any questions?" I shake my head. "Do you need anything," she asks. "No thank you." "Well goodnight dear, and sleep well. I'll tidy all this away tonight." When I get back to my room, I strip off down to the bra and panties that I have been wearing since Aunt Mary's house and sit on the end of the bed. There is no avoiding the fact that I look like a girl. I hold my head in my hands and begin to sob. I can't believe it! I don't sob! It must be the alcohol and the stress of the day. I go into the bathroom and remove my make up, brush my teeth and hair and have a quick wash. Back in the bedroom I remove the black underwired bra and leave it on the chaise longue with my clothes. Turning to face the floor-to-ceiling mirrors I look at myself and even now I look like a girl, the breasts are so realistic. Slowly I pull the black panties down my smooth legs, uncovering my 'manhood'. I just stand there and stare at myself. Truly a freak, a girlish body with a boyish face a flaccid penis. I almost can't bear to look. I pick up the black panties and put them in the laundry basket. I go to pick up the night dress, but then remember the bra. I struggle to put it on, but when I do, there is a sense of relief. I hadn't realised the breasts weighed so much and now that weight is encased by the soft, blue satin of the bra I actually feel more comfortable. Draping the nightdress over my body gives me a feeling I have never had before. The soft satin brushing softly over my hairless skin feels...well it feels different...but not unpleasant. The sensation is quite arousing, and I notice with surprise that my member is beginning to become erect. Thinking that this is not right, I grab a pair a white, cotton briefs out of the chest of drawers and quickly put them on, making sure my now turgid manhood is well inside. Drawing back the duvet I slip easily into bed, moving smoothly over the satin sheets. Propped up by a pillow I set the alarm for 7 o'clock and then look at myself in the mirror. What am I doing? Why am I here? The answers are not forthcoming. As I turn out the light I drift slowly into a fitful sleep feeling more lost than I have ever done before. =#= To be continued