Quarantined free porn video

QUARANTINED By Lisa Lovelace The new bug spread around the world faster than the last one had. So did the quarantines and stay-at-home orders. You had to remain wherever you were at the time the orders took effect. No, you could not go home, because you would have to travel, and if you traveled, you might spread the bug. Stay where you are. Do not spread the bug. For better or worse, when the lockdown came, I wasn't at home with my parents in Tampa. I was at my Aunt Victoria's house on Paradise Island west of St. Pete. She had a lovely ranch-style house on the waterfront, very private, surrounded by a tall hedge. Mom and Dad dropped me off there to stay with my aunt while they took a Caribbean cruise. Now the residents of the house - Aunt Victoria, her maid and I - were in lockdown. None of us could leave - and we were the lucky ones. My parents were trapped in worse circumstances. Half the staff on their cruise ship had the bug, more and more passengers were falling ill, and they all faced weeks or months in isolation. The ship hadn't been allowed to dock yet and was cruising back and forth in the Gulf of Mexico. Their wi-fi was overloaded and they had just enough bandwidth for text messages, no voice or video. At midnight, FEMA closed the bridges to Tampa and all the local highways. We could leave the house only to pick up the food boxes that the FEMA trucks started delivering at curbside every third day, like they did toward the end of the last quarantine. I watched for the truck and grabbed our box as soon as it arrived, so it wouldn't spoil in the sun. At least there were no longer thieves following the trucks around. They became scarce when irate citizens started administering instant justice to anyone caught with stolen food. My Aunt Victoria - great-aunt, actually - was seventy, a slender, gray- haired widow who grew up in Savannah. She was an old-fashioned Southern lady, always perfectly dressed and groomed. Even in steamy summers, she wore hose when she went out, and made sure her makeup was impeccable. Southern ladies never perspired, they glowed, but Aunt Victoria didn't even glow. She always looked impossibly cool and crisp. Her maid, Isabella, was twenty, two years older than me. If I'd been a girl, I would have looked like her. Even as a boy, I resembled her so closely that it was uncanny. We were the same height, had the same slender build, the same shoulder-length black hair, the same delicate features. It was easy to tell us apart, though, because I always wore jeans and t-shirts and she always wore a maid's uniform. I was my aunt's nephew and guest, while Isabella was my aunt's servant. Despite the difference in our status, I tried to treat her as an equal. I found her quite attractive but didn't come on to her, the way I suspected some male guests did, and I didn't treat her like a servant, the way Aunt Victoria did. I told her to call me Lucas instead of Sir. Our physical resemblance seemed to amuse her. We compared family trees, but found no link to account for the likeness. Life in quarantine was a drag, just like last time. I wished Aunt Victoria had a boat, so we could go cruising in Boca Ciega Bay - sun, water, fresh air, freedom! Instead, we were stuck at home like everyone else. Isabella showed the strain more than Aunt Victoria or I did, no doubt because it was more work to serve two people than one. I worried about her and offered to help if I could, but she just smiled and said I'd look cute in a maid's uniform. I blushed, said I didn't think so, and dropped the subject. And then one night, less than a week into the quarantine, Isabella disappeared. ~ ~ ~ "Where's my coffee, Lucas?" Aunt Victoria asked the next morning as she stumbled into the kitchen in her satin nightgown and robe. I'd just gotten up myself. I looked at the coffee machine. "It's not even turned on." "Where's Isabella?" Aunt Victoria said. I shrugged. "Where's Isabella?" she asked again. She sounded agitated. "Where's Isabella?" "I'll look for her, Aunt," I said. She didn't seem to hear me. I knocked on the door of the maid's quarters. No answer. Hoping I wasn't about to embarrass Isabella by catching her still asleep, I opened the door. She wasn't there. Instead, I found an envelope on her pillow addressed to Mrs. White. I took it to my aunt. She opened it and read the note. She paled and went into some sort of shock. Her eyes seemed to lose focus. She trembled, and the note fell from her fingers. "I don't understand," she said. She looked around. "Isabella?" She raised her voice. "Isabella?" I bent over and picked up the note: Dear Mrs White Sorry but my mom in Tampa is not answering her phone and I need to find out why. I know someone who can get me across the bay. I dont know when I can get back. So sorry to cause you trouble, but I have to make sure my mom is ok. God Bless You, Isabella "It seems clear enough," I said. "She's not here. We'll have to get along without her for a while. I can help..." Aunt Victoria paid me no attention. "Where's Isabella?" she kept repeating, and stared at me as if she didn't recognize me. Something was wrong with her. Drugs? Some kind of fit? Not booze, not at nine in the morning. "Isabella? Isabella?" she asked. "Are you Isabella?" "No, Aunt Victoria! I'm Lucas. Isabella isn't here. She went to see her mother." My aunt clutched my arms. "Isabella! You're Isabella! Isabella, I want my coffee!" What in the world was this? Aunt Victoria seemed lucid enough when I came to visit, but now suddenly she wasn't. If she thought I was Isabella, she was hallucinating. I wondered if people could go senile overnight. The stress of the quarantine couldn't be helping. "Why aren't you dressed, Isabella?" she asked, still clutching at me. "Why are you wearing boys' clothes?" This was getting seriously weird. OK, so I looked like Isabella, but I wasn't wearing bangs or a dress or earrings. I was Lucas. I wasn't a girl. "I'm not Isabella, Aunt," I said. "She's not here." "Isabella!" she cried, clutching me more tightly than ever. "You're supposed to be in uniform! Go get changed." "I'm not..." "You're Isabella! Go get dressed! I want my coffee!" What should I do? Under the delusion that I was her maid, Aunt Victoria was ordering me to dress as one. I couldn't do that! A boy couldn't wear a dress! Not to mention all the other things maids wore. On the other hand... why not? I might never have a chance like this again. I'd never admitted this to a soul, but... I was fascinated by women's clothing. I had been ever since I was a young boy. I was an only child, so I had no sisters whose clothes I could borrow in secret. My mother lived mostly on junk food and put on so much weight that her clothes were unattractive and too big for me. When I got a cellphone, though, I quickly discovered that there were lots of boys who loved girls' clothes, and lots of pictures and stories to stimulate their desires. Like so many such boys, I was particularly drawn to maids' uniforms. Yes, they were a sexist stereotype, but that's because they were just so erotic. The little black satin dresses trimmed with white lace... the crisp white petticoats... the frilly aprons... the garters and stockings and high heels... the cute little headdresses... they were all tantalizing. The way maids had to behave was equally tantalizing, so feminine and submissive and obedient, having to kneel and bend over and curtsy to their mistresses... mmm! My parents couldn't afford a maid, so when I came to visit Aunt Victoria, I was enthralled by Isabella and the outfits she wore. Now that Isabella wasn't here... now that my aunt seemed convinced I was her maid... now that we couldn't leave the house and no one could visit us... I had a unique opportunity to indulge myself, to become a maid in real life. I could wear Isabella's clothes and do the housework and curtsy to my aunt and obey her orders. The idea was thrilling. But... what if Isabella came back and found me wearing her clothes? Oh my God. I would just die if I answered the door and there she was, seeing me in one of her dresses! But of course she wouldn't just show up like that. She'd call first. She'd probably call my aunt in the next day or so to say how she and her mother were doing. The perverse thought crossed my mind that even if Isabella did catch me in her clothes, she might not mind. She might think I was cute as a maid - hadn't she said something like that? She might help me do my hair and makeup, and then tell me to... "Isabella! Get dressed!" I made my decision. I would do it. I would put on the clothes and pretend to be the maid, at least for the day. I felt my heart pound, took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am," I replied. I gently slipped out of her clutches and entered the maid's quarters next to the kitchen. I closed the door behind me, but found it had no lock. That sucked - even a maid was entitled to basic privacy! I hoped Aunt Victoria didn't walk in while I was getting dressed. I hoped I wouldn't need her help getting dressed - I wasn't sure quite what Isabella wore under her dress and apron. I'd never been inside the maid's quarters before, and was favorably impressed. The room had a window with pretty lace curtains, and was big enough to hold a queen-sized bed and all the furniture you'd expect in a girl's room: a chest of drawers, a desk with an old PC and a chair, and a vanity with a lighted mirror and a cushioned stool. It had a pretty little en suite bathroom as well. A second door opened into a walk-in closet. I turned on the light to see what it held. The clothes rack held seven maid's uniforms: three in black cotton with knee-length skirts, three in black satin with shorter, fuller skirts, and a short uniform in pink satin. Next to the uniforms hung six white petticoats with different degrees of fullness, from a single-layer underskirt to an extremely full crinoline, all with lace-trimmed ruffled hems. The petticoats took up as much room in the closet as the maid's dresses. They were all the same length, which meant they would be hidden under the longer cotton daytime uniforms, but would show several inches of lace-trimmed ruffles below the hem of the shorter satin evening uniforms. In the back of the closet hung nightgowns in a variety of lengths, colors and styles, and a few regular dresses that Isabella wore when she was off duty, which wasn't often. I saw no trousers in the closet, not even any blouses and skirts, just dresses. Shoes - sandals, sensible pumps and a pair of black patent stilettos - stood in a tidy row on the floor. Shelves held neatly folded aprons and other accessories, including maid's headbands decorated with ruffled lace, ribbons and bows. I felt guilty for looking through Isabella's clothes without permission, but I couldn't worry about that - I was about to commit an even grosser violation of her privacy by dressing in them. I could always say that Aunt Victoria ordered me to wear her uniforms. If Isabella caught me, all I could do was apologize profusely and try to explain my aunt's demented insistence that I was her maid. My aunt certainly needed a maid's care. She never lifted a finger around the house and would starve if she had to cook for herself. And now she seemed to have gone crazy. I'd be doing her a disservice if I didn't fill in for Isabella. Should I actually do it? Put on one of Isabella's uniforms - underwear, petticoats, a dress, an apron and all the trimmings - to make my aunt happy? I knew I shouldn't, but I wanted to, and I'd told Aunt Victoria that I would. So I did. I stripped naked and folded and stacked my boys' clothes in an empty spot at the back of the closet shelf. Inspecting the chest of drawers, I found panties and bras, full slips, pantyhose, stockings and garter belts, and some fearsome-looking foundation garments that I decided to avoid unless absolutely necessary. I borrowed a pair of Isabella's panties, a matching bra and a slip. The garter belt and stockings looked too complicated, so I decided to wear pantyhose instead. I slipped on the panties, managed to fasten the bra behind my back, and used two more pairs of panties to stuff the bra cups. The slip slid smoothly down my body and felt wonderful. From the closet I chose one of Isabella's day uniforms, a knee-length, lace-trimmed black cotton dress with a white Peter Pan collar, white cuffs and a full skirt, and selected a petticoat with medium fullness, hoping it was poufy enough. It rustled deliciously as I removed it from the hanger clips. From the closet I selected a headband and a white cotton pinafore apron with a ruffled skirt and shoulder straps. I laid all the uniform pieces on the bed, admired them for more than a moment, and began by pulling on the petticoat, adjusting it until its fullness seemed evenly spread around my body at a higher waistline than in boys' clothes. I loved the feeling of the lacy hem swishing around my knees and sliding over my stockings. I was nervous about the dress, fearing my male waist was too big - and so it was. I nervously opened the foundations drawer and hoped I wouldn't need the corset - there was no chance I could put it on without Aunt Victoria's help. The drawer also held several old-fashioned girdles, and I chose the smallest, least scary-looking one. I took off the dress and petticoat and squeezed myself into the girdle. It took considerable effort to pull it up over my hips and waist. It made me feel... well, let's just say that my nether parts were firmly under control. It made my boyish bulge in front looked more like a girl's mound, not that anyone was likely to see it under the petticoat, dress and pinafore. I put on the petticoat again, held the dress above me and let it slide down my arms and torso. Thanks to the girdle, I was able to zip it up this time. I smoothed the bodice down over my body, and swiveled my hips to make the skirt and petticoats swirl until they laid smoothly over each other. The frou-frou sound of my skirts heightened my pleasure. It took me a minute to figure out how the straps of the pinafore worked. I tied them tightly behind me, turned in the mirror and fluffed out the bow. Picking up the maid's hairband, with its ribbons and ruffled lace, I wondered whether I needed to fix my hair. Isabella had cute bangs that almost reached her plucked eyebrows. I didn't - my hair just hung from my center part and I tucked it behind my ears. Could I comb it forward and trim the bangs myself? I'd never cut my own hair. Should I ask Aunt Victoria to do it, or might it freak her out even further? I decided to do it myself. I brushed a section of my hair forward over my face, found a pair of scissors in the vanity, went snip snip snip, and instantly looked a lot more like Isabella, especially after I put on the maid's headband. I slipped my stocking-clad feet into a pair of the sensible low-heeled black pumps that Isabella usually wore on duty. I had small feet for a boy, and was delighted to find that the shoes fit. I tried on the pair of four-inch stilettos, just to see what they were like, and almost fell over. They fit, but felt like they would cripple my feet. I switched back to the pumps. I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror on the closet door. The sight was unnerving. I was a pretty girl wearing an extremely feminine uniform. I was Isabella the maid. All I lacked were makeup and jewelry. I wasn't sure what to do about makeup. I'd never put it on before. I decided to go for just lipstick, smeared too much on my lips, wiped it off with a tissue and put it on more carefully. Good enough for a first time. With the lipstick, my eyes looked naked, so I found a dark pencil and lined my lids, adding just a faint touch of taupe eyeshadow and smoothing it with my finger. I decided not to mess with mascara. Isabella didn't wear much jewelry, just a modest crucifix and earrings. I found a simple necklace in her jewelry box, a pretty little silver flower on a chain, and put it on. My ears weren't pierced, so earrings were out. I adjusted my stuffed bra cups, smoothed down my dress, patted my hair and decided I was as ready as I was going to get. This was the first time I'd dressed up as a girl, and I hoped the results were satisfactory. Now all I had to do was present myself to Aunt Victoria and see how she reacted. If she laughed at me, I'd be humiliated. But why would she laugh at me? She'd just ordered me to do what I'd done, so why would she object if I obeyed? If she accepted me as Isabella, disaster would be - no, might be - averted, at least for the moment. Even if she did recognize me as Lucas in a dress, she might let me be her maid while Isabella was away. I could offer to do the cooking, cleaning, laundry and other chores. Someone had to do them! She could call me Isabella or Lucas or any other name she chose, and she could dress me up however she liked. The key thing was that without a maid, Aunt Victoria would not survive the quarantine. This was the best possible way I could repay her hospitality. I took a deep breath, opened the door to the maid's quarters and entered the kitchen. Aunt Victoria looked up at the sound of my heels on the hardwood floor. Hoping she wouldn't laugh, I made a clumsy curtsy and said, "Good morning, ma'am. Would you like coffee?" She visibly brightened. "Yes, Isabella. You're late this morning." I curtsied again, more smoothly this time. "Yes, ma'am, sorry, ma'am. My bangs were untidy and I had to trim them." "Look at your makeup! No foundation, no powder, no mascara! What happened?" "I'm sorry, ma'am, I just ran out of time. May I redo it later?" "You'd better. Coffee first, then breakfast, please. Have you seen Lucas?" Oh God. Should I... no. She'd called me Isabella, so I decided to keep up the pretense. "No, ma'am. I think it's just you and me today." "Do you know where he is?" "I'm sure I couldn't say, ma'am." "Maybe he went home," Aunt Victoria said. "Didn't someone have to go home? Was it him? Well, here we are, and you'll look so much prettier when you have makeup on. Oh, and nail polish. No naked nails in my house, please! Not a bright red. A soft pink or pearl is more appropriate for a maid." "Yes, ma'am." I curtsied again, just to be on the safe side, and went to make the coffee. I almost didn't make it. My emotions overwhelmed me. I held onto the counter, barely managing to stay on my feet. Aunt Victoria had called me Isabella, and I'd responded, and now she thought I was her maid in my, or rather Isabella's, pretty little uniform. I shivered at the thought of my situation. I didn't know how to be Isabella. I didn't know how to be a maid - I'd always paid more attention to Isabella's uniforms than the work she did. I was already in trouble for not wearing makeup or nail polish. I was a bad girl, bad at being a girl, and I hoped Aunt Victoria would not snap out of her delusion and instantly see through my clumsy deception. I served her coffee. She usually had toast and grapefruit for breakfast. They took me less than five minutes to prepare and serve. I stood before her, heels together, hands folded demurely on my apron, lowering my eyes, the way Isabella did. "What should I do next, ma'am?" She put down her cup. "Well, Isabella, you know your usual Tuesday chores. Tidy up the kitchen, then do my bedroom. Clothes into the closet or the hamper. Change the sheets on my bed. Clean all the bathrooms. Do the laundry - there isn't much. For lunch, I'll have tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich on diet bread. This afternoon, vacuum the entire house, top to bottom. Dinner at seven, please, in your evening uniform. I'd like coq au vin and whatever side dishes seem appropriate." "What kinds of side dishes would be appropriate, ma'am?" She gave me a look. "I thought you were the cook, dear. The computer is right over there. Try 'coq au vin side dishes'." I felt like an idiot, having to be reminded by my ancient female relative that the web wasn't under quarantine. My mom was such a terrible cook that I often did the cooking at home, and could follow recipes if they didn't get fancy. I decided to go with buttered noodles and green beans amandine - they'd be easy, and we had the ingredients. I got through my list of chores with time to spare and changed into my satin evening uniform, which exposed the . I wasn't sure how to spell coq au vin, but the search box was, and I found a New York Times recipe that looked good. It took almost two hours to prepare, and I barely got it and the side dishes on the table by seven. Aunt Victoria complimented me on the food - I'd noticed that Isabella was better at cleaning than cooking - but said I'd served it incorrectly. In the future, I must offer dishes from the left and take them away from the right. I asked why, and she told me not to be impertinent. After dinner, I served her sherry in the living room. "You didn't quite complete your chores today, Isabella," she said. "I'm sorry, ma'am, what did I miss?" "You laundered and folded my panties and slips, but you didn't iron them." "I didn't know I was supposed to, ma'am." Too late, I realized this was the wrong thing to say. "Of course you're supposed to iron them! You know I don't like wearing wrinkled things. You're quite the ditz today, aren't you, Isabella? What's wrong? Is it stress from the quarantine?" "That must be it, ma'am. I certainly feel under stress." "Well, we all do, don't we? Please finish the ironing first thing tomorrow. Panties and slips, but not bras, garter belts or girdles - nothing with a lot of elastic in it. Have you seen any sign of Lucas?" "No, ma'am," I managed to say calmly. "He must have gone home. I'm surprised a nice boy like him would leave without saying goodbye. I suppose he was ashamed to break quarantine. Well, it's nice to be back to just us ladies. Less work for you! You can go finish up in the kitchen now." "Thank you, ma'am," I said, and curtsied. I did the dishes, tidied up, retreated to the maid's quarters, put on a nightgown and went to bed. Went to bed, but not to sleep. I lay there in the dark, thinking through all that had happened that day. When I got up that morning, I'd been Lucas, an eighteen-year-old boy in jeans and a t-shirt, who had recently graduated from high school and whose college plans were being disrupted by the bug. By day's end I'd become Isabella, a twenty-year-old girl in panties and a bra, petticoats and a dress, who'd spent the day doing cooking, cleaning, laundry and other domestic tasks that I'd always thought of as women's work. All because my aunt had become convinced I was her missing maid and ordered me to go put on a uniform. For better or worse, I agreed to do it and spent the day dressed as a maid, and now I was wearing a pretty lavender nylon nightgown with a shirred bodice trimmed with lace and ribbons. Tomorrow, I would have to do it all over again. Get up, get dressed, breakfast, chores, lunch, chores, change dress, dinner, chores, get undressed, go to bed. And the next day. And the next. And the next. For however long I might serve Aunt Victoria as her maid. All while wearing bras and girdles and shoes that made my feet hurt. With hair and nails and makeup that took an hour a day to maintain. Why did women do this to themselves? More to the point, why did I do it to myself? I wasn't a woman. I didn't have to wear uncomfortable things. I chose to. I voluntarily subjected myself to the constrictions of women's underthings, the petty humiliations of wearing skirts that could be lifted by anything from a breeze to a groping hand, the physical vulnerability of anyone wearing heels. Why would I subject themselves to this? I knew the answer. I just didn't like to admit it. It was because I loved it. Today had been the sexiest day of my life. Also the most stressful - but the sexiest, first and foremost. For the first time in my life, I'd been able to indulge my desire to dress as a female. Not just as a female, but as a maid, a serving girl in a lace-trimmed uniform with petticoats, heels and an apron, keeping house for a woman who gave me orders that I had to obey. I would never have such an opportunity again and wanted to make the most of it. I was thankful that the lockdown prevented Aunt Victoria's lady friends from visiting. For one thing, they'd surely notice that I wasn't Isabella, and God only knew how my aunt might react. I could imagine how they'd behave if they found out I was Lucas. They'd shriek and laugh and squeeze my cheeks - all of them - and fuss with my dress and hair and say how cute I looked, and they'd tell my aunt to keep me in dresses even if Isabella returned. I was spared that humiliation. Aunt Victoria kept me out of her video chats with her friends, and as far as I know, they never knew I had become her maid. Even so, I lived in daily fear of exposure to whoever might appear at our front door - especially the real Isabella. ~ ~ ~ Six weeks later, against all expectations, Aunt Victoria and I were still trapped in her house, I was still her maid, and she was still calling me Isabella. We hadn't heard from the real Isabella. I hoped she was alive and well and had just lost her phone or not paid her bill or something. From my selfish point of view, her silence and absence were a godsend, the only way I could possibly pass myself off as her. No one expected the lockdown to last so long. The media said members of an bioterrorist cult were deliberately infecting themselves with the bug, traveling to clean or cleansed cities and deliberately reinfecting them. They were worse than food thieves, and I hoped they all died horrible deaths. In those six weeks, I lost my identity as my aunt's favorite nephew and became her female servant. I learned how to carry myself with the bearing of a submissive female. I learned how to dress and accessorize and bathe and paint and scent myself, how to behave before my mistress with appropriate deference and feminine grace. To this end, Aunt Victoria had constantly corrected every aspect of my behavior. She'd been surprisingly patient with me, though, and still showed no sign of recognizing me as her grand-nephew. "Isabella! What's wrong with you? Do you have the bug? I thought you knew how I like things! My coffee black, but my tea with cream. My laundry dried by sunlight, not by electricity. My sheets ironed and changed twice a week. Yesterday, you forgot to iron my panties again! Why do I keep having to remind you about our household routines? You seem totally distracted." I curtsied to buy time to come up with a plausible answer. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Please forgive me. I don't have any symptoms of the bug, so I think it's just the quarantine. It's gone on for so long, and I'm having trouble focusing on my work when I'm so worried about you." "Are you?" She sounded gratified. "No fear, my dear, I'll live to a hundred. Now, how shall we get you straightened out? I almost feel like I need to repeat your maid training." She certainly did, since I'd never had maid training. I smiled. "If nothing else, it'll give us both something to do, won't it, ma'am?" She laughed. "So it will! Very well, then. Stand up, Isabella. Show me how a maid stands before her mistress." And so began my formal training as Isabella the maid, starting with a day of deportment lessons. It all felt dreadfully unnatural. Stand very straight, breasts and derriere thrust outward, heels touching, hands folded neatly on the lap of the apron. Sit gracefully on the forward edge of the chair, always upright,, never slouching. Smooth your skirts under you as you sit to avoid wrinkling them. Cross your ankles, not your knees. Take short steps toeing a straight line, rolling your hips to make your derriere sway. Keep your elbows by your side unless you have to reach for something. Fold your hands in front or behind you, or hold them out at the waist and let your wrists go limp, or let them hang at the side of your skirts, slightly turned out to expose the forearm. "Do it again, child, correctly this time, or my friend Mr. Crop will make your bottom twitch." On succeeding days, she usually ended my lessons around four, so that she could have her first martini of the evening... afternoon, actually. I wondered if her slowly but steadily increasing intake of alcohol had anything to do with her mental confusion. She never seemed drunk, but as I thought about it, I realized she would probably have a drink in her hand most of the time from now until whenever she decided to take her bath, a nightly ritual at which I was expected to serve. She critiqued the way I dressed and taught me how to wear and accessorize my uniforms properly. She introduced me to garter belts and stockings, and explained why my garters had to run under my panties, not over them as so many pictures showed. She laced me into my first corset, an experience I will never forget. I wondered how I could possibly bear it in the Florida climate, even with air conditioning. A glance at my waist in the mirror, however, showed me the benefits of tight stays, so I... no... what on earth was I doing? Giving in. Surrendering. Allowing myself to be turned into a girl. What happened to Lucas? Who was I now? I looked at myself and realized that Lucas was fading away. I remembered who he was and could pretend to be like him again, but he was no longer the real me. I was becoming Isabella the maid. My boy clothes disappeared, I didn't notice when or how. My life was dedicated to serving Aunt Victoria, making her happy, anticipating her desires, sensing her needs before she did. I sensed my own needs, too, but was in no position to satisfy them. Having no other goal to strive for, I worked hard to look more feminine. I took makeup lessons on YouTube and practiced daily, remembering that less is more, that I wanted to look like a real girl, not a drag queen. Aunt Victoria showed me how to brush, dampen and blow-dry my bangs so that they curled properly, making me look even more like the real Isabella. My aunt noticed my change in attitude and looks and commented on it. She'd been worried about my mental state. While I was wondering whether she'd gone nuts, she'd been wondering the same about me, but she was pleased to see me making progress in the feminine skills I needed to be her maid. She approved of my curtsies now. She started training me to serve her in the more skilled role of lady's maid, attending to her more intimate needs, dressing and undressing her, drawing her bath, caring for her clothing, brushing her hair, putting away her day clothes and bringing her the nightwear appropriate to her mood. In such intimate service I grew closer to her than ever before. I unconsciously started to think of myself as Isabella, my aunt's personal servant. I grew used to answering to Isabella's name, wearing her uniforms and nightwear, increasingly comfortable in my servile role. I reminded myself that I had to ask Aunt Victoria to buy Isabella new clothes, especially lingerie, to replace everything I'd worn. I steadily became more competent and confident in service to my aunt, a better female attendant. Of course I enjoyed wearing the clothes, but I also began to appreciate the value of the service I gave Aunt Victoria. I felt good about being her maid and making her life simpler and better. I was proud of doing all the housework needed to keep our home running smoothly. And then everything went wrong. ~ ~ ~ The first thing that went wrong is that the quarantine ended. The bug was finally under control. Of course this was good news for everyone else in the country, but for me, it meant that my parents and Isabella would be returning. My parents would reclaim me, and Isabella would return and replace me, and I would no longer be my aunt's maid, and I would have to get some boys' clothes and return with my unhappy parents to their unhappy home in Tampa. Being quarantined on a cruise ship would probably not have improved their disposition... or their relationship. Mom had probably not cut back on the booze. I did not look forward to home sweet home. I was so depressed. The second thing that went wrong was the next day, when the doorbell rang for the first time in weeks. I was dusting in the living room in my day uniform. I hurried to answer the door, wondering who it could be. It was the real Isabella. In a t-shirt and jeans. She stared at me. Oh oh oh. Oh shit shit shit. Oh help help help. "Who are..." She did a double take. "Lucas? Is that you?" "Uh, yes." I wanted to die. Absolutely the most embarrassing moment of my life. "I'm, uh, working for my aunt, and she..." "Is that my uniform?" she asked. "Oh my God, Lucas, are you wearing my clothes?" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! My aunt made me wear them." "Your aunt?" She frowned and shook her head. "Why? What's going on?" "I'll tell you, but please come inside." I closed the door behind her. Isabella looked me over from head to foot. Slowly, her face relaxed into a smile. "Well! You make a very cute maid, Lucas! Look at you! Are you wearing everything underneath, too? Are those stockings or pantyhose?" "Stockings," I said, blushing. "With a garter belt?" "Yes." My right eye overflowed, and a tear ran down my cheek. Isabella took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed away the tear. "Don't cry, you'll ruin that pretty makeup. Did you do it yourself?" "Yes." "Very good! And you're wearing bangs, just like me! Now tell me, Lucas - honest, now - are you wearing my panties?" "Oh... yes, but... my aunt..." "Really, Lucas? You're wearing my panties? And one of my bras, I suppose, stuffed with something to give you fake tits? By now you've probably worn everything I own, right? So what am I supposed to wear?" "Um... we were going to take you shopping and get you new underwear..." She gave me a scornful look. "What, now? The quarantine is over, but all the stores are still closed. I was afraid of running out of food, but I never thought I'd run out of lingerie." I stared at the floor, too mortified to speak. "Where's your aunt?" Isabella said. "Isabella, please, I need to tell you! My aunt has... changed," I said. "She's confused. She thinks I'm you. She's been calling me Isabella. Training me to be her maid." "Oh, I'm sure," she said. "I know you like my outfits. You probably leaped at the chance to wear them. You're cute, but you have to understand that I feel humiliated that a boy is wearing my underwear. Take me to your aunt." "Yes, Miss," I said. We found her in the kitchen, sipping coffee. "Good afternoon, ma'am." The real Isabella made a perfect half-curtsy. "Isabella!" my aunt said. "Here you are! Were you away?" "Long enough for Lucas to help himself to my clothes." Isabella gave me a look. "Lucas!" my aunt said. "What's going on? Why are you wearing Isabella's uniform?" I felt a sick dismay in the pit of my stomach. At exactly the wrong time, my aunt seemed to have snapped back to her normal self again. Whatever had been wrong with her no longer was. Meanwhile, I found myself wearing Isabella's lingerie and maid's uniform, and she was asking me to explain why. "Um... um..." I said helplessly. "Do you remember anything, Aunt Victoria?" She gave me a blank look. "Anything about what?" "Don't you remember? I was Isabella!" I said, and instantly knew how absurd that sounded. "Isabella was missing, she went home to check on her mother, and you thought I was her, and you made me dress as your maid. You've been giving me maid lessons." "What? I don't remember any of that," she said. "I still don't understand why you're wearing Isabella's uniform. Although I must say you look very cute in it." "You told me to wear it!" I said. "I guess my memory is playing tricks on me," Aunt Victoria said. "Unless yours is playing tricks on you?" "I'm starting to think so," Isabella said. "So, what do you want to do with Lucas, ma'am? Do you want him back in boys' clothes?" Why didn't my aunt remember anything? Unless... was she telling me the truth? What if she wasn't? What if she'd planned this all along? What if... oh my God. Why would she do this? "Do you have any boys' clothes, Lucas?" my aunt said. "I don't think so," I said. "I think you got rid of them." "Well, then, you'll just have to stay in dresses for now, won't you?" she said. "My dresses?" Isabella said. "What am I supposed to wear?" "Oh, dear," my aunt said. "He doesn't have any panties or bras of his own, does he? I have plenty - maybe I can find some of mine that will fit him." "I hope so!" Isabella said. "I can lend him my old maid's uniforms and a pair of shoes, but I don't want a boy wearing my panties!" "She's not a boy! She's Isa..." Aunt Victoria's voice broke off. "Oh," she said. "No. That's right. You're Isabella. He's Lucas." Isabella shot me a glance at my aunt's show of confusion. I shrugged. Maybe she'd believe me now, or at least wonder about my aunt's mental stability. Instead, she said, "If you want to keep Lucas in dresses, ma'am, shouldn't we find a different name for him? For her, that is?" My aunt looked mildly interested. "Such as?" "How about... Lisa? Instead of Lucas. A pretty, feminine name for a pretty, feminine person." "Lisa." My aunt smiled. "I like it. It's sparkly and girly. Do you like it, Lisa?" Did I want to be turned into a sparkly and girly girl named Lisa? Did I even have a choice? I was a maid now, and I supposed it made sense for maids to have sparkly and girly names, and certainly Lisa was very sparkly and girly. I was just glad they didn't call me Abigail. I'd read somewhere that English lords and ladies used to change their servants' names so they wouldn't have to remember them. Lots of noble ladies called their maids Abigail, and eventually maids were known as abigails, and I knew I didn't want to be an Abigail. If I had to stay in dresses, I'd rather be called Lisa than Lucas. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Lisa is a pretty name." "Well then, Lisa," my aunt said, "if you stay with me, I will offer you a position as my housemaid. I shall have two maids. Yes." She brightened. "Isabella, I am promoting you to be my lady's maid, and Lisa, I am hiring you as my new housemaid. A lady's maid is superior to a housemaid, so Lisa, you must curtsy to Isabella from now on, and call her Miss Isabella." I must. I must. It was at this moment that I gave in. I submitted to Aunt Victoria's will. I was a girl now, Lisa the housemaid. I must remember my place and act humble and obedient. I must curtsy to my superiors. "Yes, ma'am," I said. I curtsied. "Miss Isabella." "You're a girl now, Lisa," said Miss Isabella, rubbing it in. "Yes, Miss," I said. "Lucas never seemed very masculine, did he?" my aunt said. "She, not he," Miss Isabella said. She looked into my eyes. "Lisa's not a boy. She never really was a boy. She's always been a girl." This was nonsense. "I was too a boy!" I said. In retrospect, I suppose I should have insisted I still was one, not that I was feeling terribly masculine at the moment. "Don't be silly, Lisa," my aunt said. "You're a girl now, and that's what matters." This wasn't the time to argue with her. "May I ask a question, ma'am?" "If you must." "What about my parents? When will they get off their ship? Will I have to go live with them again?" "No, child," Aunt Victoria said. "I mean yes, they'll eventually get off their ship, but no, I don't want you to have to live with them as Lucas. Lucas is an unhappy boy. I want you to live here, as Lisa. I want Lisa to be a happy girl." Life in an unhappy home with unhappy parents, or life as Aunt Victoria's housemaid? I could have wished for different choices, but I instantly knew that I preferred my new life to my old life, even if for now I would be spending it in a maid's uniform. I would rather be Lisa in panties than Lucas in boxers. "I'd like to live with you, Aunt Victoria, ma'am." "Good girl, Lisa! I'll text your parents tonight saying Lucas left my house without warning the day the quarantine ended and I don't know where he went. I'll tell them I don't know where he is now or what he's doing. In four days, you'll text them from Lucas' phone to say you're in Los Angeles now and you've found a job as a movie extra. After that, I recommend you get a new phone number and disappear from your parents' lives. You're legally an adult now, but I recommend you think of me as your guardian, not just your elderly relative. If there's any legal nonsense, I'll deal with it." I curtsied. "Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am." Isabella turned to Aunt Victoria. "Ma'am, we only have the one maid's room. Where shall Lisa sleep?" "I was thinking she could share your bed, Isabella," Aunt Victoria said. "After all, it's queen size." "I sleep better alone," Miss Isabella replied. "Unless my bedmate..." She walked up to me and started playing with my nipples. I gave a little yelp, and found it hard not to wriggle as her fingers run over my little bumps. "Unless she makes me feel very, very nice." I gulped. "Yes, Miss Isabella." "Do you promise to make me feel very, very nice, Lisa?" "Oh yes, Miss Isabella." "I hope so, Lisa, or you'll be sleeping on the floor." "I'm glad to see you two getting along so well together," says Aunt Victoria. "The two of you look so similar, now that Lisa is a girl, that you're practically a matched pair. Twin maids! I think I'll have you both serve at one of my formal dinners. In fact, let's have you do it tonight! Why don't you boys both change into your evening uniform, cook me a lovely dinner and serve it as prettily as you can." Boys? Did she just say Miss Isabella was a boy? Oh my God! Miss Isabella, a boy like me? I never imagined! Maybe that was why I looked like her. Him. Her. I was a her now. We were both hers, in both meanings of the phrase: We were both girls, and we both belonged to Aunt Victoria. Isabella raised a hand to hide her smile. "You didn't know? Oh, little Lisa, you have so much to learn." "And you'd better teach her," Aunt Victoria said, "because otherwise we'll have to play the Spanking Game, won't we?" "Yes, ma'am," Isabella said, suddenly abashed. "All right, you two, go get dressed. Isabella, you've trimmed your bangs. Please trim Lisa's to match. Do her makeup, too, so you match. This will be so much fun!" "Yes, ma'am," Miss Isabella said. "Fun for me, anyway - we'll see how much fun Lisa has." She flashed me a feral grin. "Oh, Lisa will enjoy it," Aunt Victoria said. "After all, we need to buy her a whole new wardrobe." "No, ma'am," Miss Isabella said. She curtsied, no doubt to apologize for contradicting her mistress. "You need to buy me a whole new wardrobe. Let Lisa have my old clothes. After all, she's worn them all by now." "Why, isn't that thoughtful of you!" my aunt said. "Lisa, thank Miss Isabella for her generosity." I curtsied, for what must have been the thirtieth or fortieth time that day. "Thank you, Miss Isabella, for your old clothes. And thank you, Aunt Victoria." "For what?" my aunt asked. "For..." I took a deep breath. Overcome by my feelings, I could not continue. I felt my panties hugging my bottom. I felt my girdle compressing my waist. I felt my bra straps hugging my upper body, and wished the cups were filled with me. I felt my slip sliding over my panties and bra and stockings. I felt the taut straps of my garter belt pulling my stockings high on my thighs. I felt pumps lifting my heels, a pretty Alice band in my hair, pearl studs in my ears. I felt my petticoat swirling around my hips, my black satin dress sliding over it, my white georgette pinafore apron tied tightly in a bow behind me. I smelled my perfume, my makeup, potpourri from the sachets in my chest of drawers. I felt wonderful. I felt beautiful. I felt at home and at peace and accepted by the people in my life: my aunt and Miss Isabella. I was no longer Lucas or Isabella. I was a new person now, Lisa the housemaid. I had an identity now. I knew my place in my aunt's household. The quarantine was over, Aunt Victoria's friends would soon meet me as Lisa the maid, and if I was lucky, they would never find out that I was once a boy. "I'm grateful for my new life, ma'am," I said. "Thank you." Aunt Victoria lay back on the couch, lifted her skirts and spread her legs. She was not wearing panties. She had me kneel between her legs and scooch forward until I was an inch from her pink nubbin of pleasure. "You're welcome, my darling Lisa," she said. "Now, show me how grateful you are." The End