Playing Maid

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2020 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; fpov; bond; chastity; bedtie; stocks; fem; maid; cons; X

Continues from

Part 4: A Fresh Start

…Jim never got to three, our newly committed and panty wearing maid running off towards the house in a most feminine way - likely because of the cold dewy grass on her bare feet - apparently to do Jim's bidding. I think the back to back shocks were just too much for my former husband, and the threat of Jim's belt like a necessary slap in the face to refocus her; drive her towards the only proper action for her now.

That key to her manly freedom was ever so briefly in her hands, and then gone, possibly forever; how did that actually feel? I wondered coldly. Did she even for a second seriously ponder safe wording out on this adventure, or did her heavy guilt over all those previous lies prevent this, she hung by her own proverbial rope? Jim seemed to be taunting her to disobedience, or maybe to use her special word, I clearly heard it. I also saw that look exchanged between them, the power exchange, but it was over in just a few seconds…

That single remaining unmodified key, the one that could be argued shouldn't even exist, released and lost by her very own trembling hand. It was powerfully symbolic to me, and it had to be even more so to her. This was like a fresh start, the first night of our new life, of her new life, a life that promised adventure and more new things that one can imagine. She had actually sold herself off into a form of slavery, for a bargain price, and not just to us as it would eventually turn out. It was an action almost impossible to get one's head wrapped around, but I had watched it all happen over the course of a few short months. Who does that, other than somebody deeply desperate, somebody with few other apparent options, or somebody with deep crushing guilt? I wondered.

It had been pathetically easy to watch Jim do all these things incrementally to her, sadistically satisfying for me even. But, if I had any remaining sympathy or empathy for her at all, which I didn't at the time, I would have lost that too in those final moments in my backyard. I was ever mindful of her previous lies to me - and so apparently was she - and such things had far reaching consequences, they simply had to. In my mind it was a painfully simple example of cause and effect. "Do this, and that might, or will, happen." At the same time, the device her man bits were trapped in had to also have an effect here, as in it was apparently impossible for her to "man up" in any significant way while trapped in it.

The submissive psychology of such a device was a mystery to me, and while I obviously only had second hand experience with it, one couldn't discount what one had seen with her own eyes. Or, maybe it was something much simpler, and that old saying was true; "there can only be one rooster at a time in the hen house." If that was the case here, Jim was most certainly the new rooster, the new cock, and our maid was the old rejected one, and about to be further repurposed. In my very limited experience with chickens - second hand I'll admit - the new dominant rooster will chase away the old bird he's replacing, or worse, if the old one doesn't leave…

"Secure the manhood, secure the man" had been etched into the tempered glass structure of that device, and I thought a slight play on words might be just a bit better and more fitting, at least in this particular case; "Secure the manhood long enough, eradicate the man." What had just released that key while Jim and I watched was an almost empty vessel, the contents of that pathetic human container dumped down the proverbial drain in little dribs and drabs until there was nearly nothing left, that key and open ended offer of servitude was almost the last little dribble. There were just a few more steps to go, a few more precious drops, my simmering rage not yet cooled for what had been, just a few months earlier, my husband. The fact that I as of yet had no human empathy for this pathetic creature before me speaks more of my character than hers though.

…Would Jim have taken his belt to her belligerent ass right in the backyard, and right in front of me? I asked myself. The new maid at least thought so, and to be honest, so did I. Was this level of dominant physical control what the maid had actually sought, back when she had been my eager to be cuckolded husband, back when this had been just a bit more of a taboo fantasy sex game, for what was then still a "him" to me? Or, was this the reluctant price she must now pay, for whatever strange thing she got out of this personally?

I looked up at Jim longingly, and he noticed. A host of new emotions were going through my head, but the one dominant one - oddly enough - was envy. A part of me wanted that level of control, that raw domination, that single focused attention of Jim's, but all to myself. Every further inch of emotional distance between my former dishonest husband and myself only served to warm me up to Jim's contrasting and commanding masculinity, filling that void rather nicely for me. Both were biologically men, but that's where the similarities ended as far as I was concerned. I wanted one with every fiber of my being, and the mere sight of the other disgusted me more and more each moment, although I was trying to hide this from her, to stay somewhat professional and detached during our brief interactions.

…Jim and I hadn't exactly gotten stale yet, relationship wise - ours was too new, fresh, and uniquely conceived for that - but I saw the signs that it could go that way. And, in my mind Sheila was an ever present threat; she was still there for a possible reconciliation of some kind. She obviously knew Jim - Jimmy to her even - far better than I could at this stage, and they even had continuing business ties to each other as a potential anchor to keep him from drifting too far away. I realized that she lived in a different city now, but cell phones and email made this separation much less separate than it would have been a generation ago.

Could I be the unintentional vehicle that drove them back together, or even the intentional one, knowing that Sheila was a manipulative soul with an axe to grind? Was Sheila capable of using me as a weapon, or even our maid and I in combination, all to drive Jim and her back together, even though I got the distinct vibe that she didn't really need any man? She was very "put together" feeling like that to me - except of course for a few needy moments there on that bed - and overall I was envious of her for it.

Was I possibly nothing more than Jim's 'summer fling' getting this curious lust and physical passion for me out of his system, and then, if not running back to Sheila, he at least walking back to her with his proverbial hat in hand, and my own less than perfect marriage scuttled as nothing more than unfortunate collateral damage? Wouldn't that be an ironic payback for the perception of my ruining her marriage, she ruining mine, even though my foolish former husband had initiated this dating scheme in the first place, and presumably AFTER the two were no longer together? Was Sheila actually capable of such intricate thought out plots and plans? But, the moment I had asked myself that very question I knew it to be the wrong question. The real question to ask myself was if any scorned woman could do such a thing? And the obvious answer was yes.

Sheila may have even wished to emasculate Jim in her own way, wreck his confidence with any future women with her sour parting words, as a final poison pill to make the rest of his life miserable and lonely. Such implies he dumped her, but I know that's an oversimplification of some very complex passionate emotions, and it was far more likely that the two had mutually decided to call it quits; mutually fallen out of love with each other. But, no matter her actual motivations, so far at least she had failed with Jim, although I had a hand in her failure, and so did my former husband to an even greater extent.

And for my own husband, as a reward for his "apparently" selfless act of charity with our neighbor; for that I had actually succeeded in emasculating him, ruining him for any other woman ever, with Jim's obvious help. And with the help of a magnificent and simple little glass chastity device. So, in a way, I had succeeded, where Sheila had failed, and when she became fully aware of all this, assuming she wasn't already, look out!

This excuse for a party, and extended visit of servitude with Shela's ailing aunt, could therefore be nothing more than an elaborate plot to let the "happy couple" simulate getting together once again… in the same bed even! This would at the same time showcase all that Sheila was, and what I wasn't, I demoted to nothing more than a humble uniformed servant girl for her and her guests to use as they pleased. Was this specifically intended to humble me, to let Jim see me as something less, unworthy even, and therefore something much less than Sheila's highborn self? The fact that privileged and related to wealth Sheila had been replaced - without the commitment of a ring though - by a relatively common, low-maintenance younger woman like myself, had to be maddening for her at some level; as in "who did I think I was?"

I didn't necessarily get this vibe from Sheila while she was having her one-on-one fun with me on Jim's elaborate restraint bed, but my own significant self doubt crept into my mind at times like these. Why had I volunteered to be her maid at all, unless I thought subconsciously that this was my more proper place amongst these two powerful and confident people? I wondered to myself. It was self destructive, and still I had freely offered?

Jim was the proverbial king pin that all this revolved around though, he WAS powerful and confident, and had wealth of his own, although the exact depth of his wealth wasn't necessarily my business. His was earned wealth too, although I got the impression that Sheila and her family had provided the seed capital that had made Jim's wealth possible, he therefore indebted to her, and even them to a lesser extent.

Jim was therefore in an impossible situation himself, and I was obligated to help him to the best of my ability due to selfless love alone, even though it might not be in my actual best interest, long term, to do so. And, if Sheila thought I had deceived, or outmanoeuvred her somehow, she would not only want her pound of flesh from me, but she would want it publically, so everybody in her wealthy circle of friends could see her taking it, putting this "man stealing young upstart" in her proper place.

Could I play maid for Sheila and somehow still walk the tightrope of self interest all at the same time? I asked myself. I wasn't able to answer my own self-applied question though, standing there in my own backyard, before being interrupted by an odd penetrating question from Jim…

"You disapprove?" Jim asks, drawing me out of my deep thoughts and missing my "look" entirely. He has done this before with me, so while I still see him as perfect, there are "glitches" in his perfection, although it's easy for me to overlook these. Everybody gets a "Mulligan" once in a while, I reason; except for my former husband of course. The irony of that peculiar mindset escaping me at the time though, I blinded to it by suppressed white hot rage.

"No sir, I think your plan is brilliant. Here I was wondering how 'I' was going to get her into that maid's uniform for the party, and you already had that part worked out."

"You asked me to take charge of the maid, didn't you, to take this burden from you?"

"Yes sir, I did."

…It now occurred to me that my new man had gone from "Jim," all the way to "sir," twice, in just a few sentences. We were therefore no longer on near equal footing at all, he and I. Did Jim see this, or should I say "hear" this? I then realized that I really didn't need Sheila's direct involvement to demote myself at all, as I had quite easily and naturally done that all on my own…

"What is it then?"

"I… I guess I'm envious. Isn't that perfectly awful to say out loud? I feel so shallow for even thinking it, let alone saying it, but I find myself wanting some of that for myself."

"My belt?" Jim's smile was broad. We were really communicating now, although one could argue that I had just thrown myself into the deep end of the proverbial pool with my words! Jim was quite perceptive in most things, but there was a slight disconnect between us at times. I objectively think the fault for that was my own; I perhaps needing to tell him just a little more directly what I would like, and what I expect from all this. Jim can't read my mind though, and it's unfair of me to expect him to be so deeply connected to all my nuances, with our new intimate relationship still being so fresh and new. I therefore may have inadvertently put him into a second "impossible" situation, if I didn't somehow correct this between us.

"Yes, and no. This is so hard for me to explain, but I'll try. The power and control, the no choices, all of it… yes, even the consequences too. I feel like we're standing still in one place, you and I, and I so want what's next, to move forward."

"You have to crawl before you walk, and walk before you run."

"I so want to run, like right now, with you chasing me, and then you doing whatever you like, anything at all, if you catch me… well, let's be honest, when you catch me. You do so much, for me, for all of us even, the maid obviously might not appreciate all this right now, but I still do!"

I first get a peck on the lips for my words, so at least there is that, Jim then moving in close to me with both his arms draped heavily over my shoulders, his tone intimate and soft.

"There's obviously a lot going on in that pretty little head of yours, and please don't take this the wrong way either, but I biffed up the last one pretty badly. And, as a result, I'm just not doing that a second time, as I don't want to foul things up with you by moving too fast."

"You won't" I answered reflexively, this certainly not the reaction I had expected though. In what universe does a woman offer the proverbial keys to the kingdom to a man she's in love with, only for him to say "no thank you, at least for the moment?" I was just a bit put off for a few seconds to be honest.

Was this what was called "topping from the bottom?" I wondered a moment later. And did my offer usurp, or attempt to usurp, Jim's commanding masculinity because of this? He wasn't angry, just firm in his direction, and there was still the maid to be dealt with in the here and now; as in making sure that she was actually disposing of all of her guy clothes as instructed. That part of our new and complicated relationship, our maid specifically, actually sucked up most of the proverbial free oxygen in the room, and as a result there was little energy left, nor true privacy, to explore like a new couple must. I yearned for one on one intimate privacy with Jim, like we had in that hotel room on our only overnight date so far. It was almost a running joke between us, I telling him time and again in hushed tones that we needed our own place.

The maid's repurposing was a rather integral part of the plan to be sure, and therefore a priority, and in Jim's world I would likely be here for the taking later, maybe even later in the week if it came to that. I had in effect told Jim what I wanted, about as directly as any woman possibly could, and he had answered by telling me, confirming for me, that he had real long term plans that included me. It's not quite what I was after, but it would have to do. This was a trust thing, and I was still struggling with trust with all I had been through with the maid in her previous life with me. Her presence was a continual reminder of that, of my failures, and I didn't know if I could get past that with her living here.

If I wanted this man to lead, to take firm control; how could I possibly complain when he did, or when things then didn't go exactly as I wanted them to? I wondered in my mind. There were only so many men on the planet like Jim, my former husband's much softer version of "masculinity" obviously quite common these days, otherwise there wouldn't be an entire billion dollar industry built up around chastity devices. How many were at this very second locked up and doing their level best not to anger whoever held that little key of theirs? I wondered, a million, ten million?

Jim also had told me indirectly that he had regrets with how things had gone with Sheila, and in the back of my mind I thought he might still want to right those at some point too. This could obviously either be with closure, or reconciliation, and in the back of my mind also was the fact that I didn't feel worthy of entering into any competition with Sheila, let alone expecting to win. I knew I had to correct this line of reasoning, less I become permanently happy with second place between Sheila and I. I actually envied her confidence, not that I had a true girl crush on her, but the feelings I had for her drifted that way at times, and we had been intimate once too. Or, maybe it was more a thing of respect between us, almost like with Jim?

"I simply can't, not this time" Jim told me quite seriously. His tone told me not to press, not that he would get angry with me, but that it wouldn't be good for him. From my point of view, if it was good for Jim we'd do it, and if it was bad, or potentially bad, we wouldn't. I would gladly submit to Jim's command and leadership, even if I couldn't see clearly where it was leading, although with the history of the last guy to share my bed still fresh in my mind, this mindset didn't come naturally to me. Jim was a different man though, his "own" man, and that took confidence and courage that were in short supply in this modern world.

Jim had a history too though, and lessons learned, so I had to respect his wishes here…

…Anybody on our street could have seen her later that night, dragging half a dozen fully filled and heavy black trash bags to the curb while wearing my borrowed pink short bathrobe, something I never wanted back now by the way, YUCK! Her black panties contrasting color bleeding through the thin pink material, it likely even looked femininely sexy at a distance in the dark. But, anybody casually looking out their windows that late on a weeknight might have mistaken her for me while doing so anyway, dressed as she was. Her much shorter hair was a tell though, but it was at the same time quite dark out, the outside lights off intentionally.

It didn't really matter one way or the other now, as this was the first full day, or it soon would be, of her full faux feminization; dresses', heels, and all. I don't know if she realized this was the next step in her evolution, with her guy clothes thrown in the trash, but there was just no going back from here, and if she didn't get this by now, too bad for her. The balloon should have told her this as well; that this was a fresh start on the last leg of her one way trip.

…Something gnawed at me at the very back of my mind though, just at the range of my perception; what's wrong with being a woman? For me it came naturally though, I was born this way. For the maid however, it almost felt like this was like becoming something less than what the male version of "him" had been, and quite honestly, that male part had been lacking. It was almost as if being a woman was a bad or weak thing, or a punishment even. To a lesser extent Jim projected this attitude as well, but in his case he got a pass on this, just like with all his other imperfections.

Sheila wasn't weak at all, and I liked being who I was, even though I saw myself as something submissively less than Sheila, although NOT because I had been born without guy hardware… I didn't necessarily know what to do with all these jumbled thoughts bouncing around in my mind though, they were just random observations without conclusion at this point. I also knew these thoughts were a form of personal internal conflict, and that I would have to sort all this out eventually, if for nothing else my sanity…

From Jim's point of view this seemed like a big puzzle, and one of the first pieces was my former husband's full and unconditional submission. The next step was clearly his/her full, femininely attired emasculation, making this adventure a true one way trip for her; this part well under way with all that had already happened to her so far. Wearing panties and having her guy stuff caged up and inaccessible were both things that could still be hidden externally - and potentially even undone - if she were still dressed as a guy.

Such, at this late hour, was far more like wearing a costume of masculinity though, at least from my perspective. Gone now was that faux costume, thrown out in the trash where it belonged, and gone now also was her even pretending to be anything even close to what Jim was, to be replaced with something far more fitting. Fitting not only her thin new form considerably better than her badly hanging oversized guy clothes did, but perceived "lesser" gender as well; even though that thought rankled me deep inside.

What did the neighbors think about all this? I wondered much more practically. Did they realize that I had swapped one "man" for a far better one, or did they think Jim was only living in the guest room while he looked for a new home? Did they maybe think my "husband" was sick, and his weight loss and being home all the time then making sense to them? What then would they think when they didn't see him any longer, but saw that I now had a maid? Could I tell a convincing but bold lie, if I were asked directly, telling a concerned neighbor that "he" was away at a clinic in a distant city, for an unspecified condition?

"This uniform is along the lines of what you'll wear from this day forward," Jim told the maid firmly while holding the garment's hanger high in his large hand, but only after the trash had been picked up in the morning. She had looked on longingly through the slats of the closed blinds, from a hidden upstairs window, with moist puppy dog eyes while that had happened; as the big burly men easily loaded the bags containing her ill fitting masculine past into the truck. They easily threw the heavy bags containing "his" clothes and shoes into the back as if nothing but trash, one handed, where the maid had struggled to drag them with two. These were big muscular sleeveless inked up "working" men though, where the maid was about as far away from that as was possible while still having similar genitalia.

Jim had specifically avoided the word "dress" though, and I thought that was odd, as this "uniform" surely was a dress. I should know, as I had bought it for her myself. There was no threat made, there was no reason for such, as there were no other options for her, unless she wanted to use her safe word phrase and run from my house in just her panties and never come back, without even a dollar in her pocket… really without even a pocket at all! She could always chase down the garbage truck in just her panties, to perhaps recover some of her discarded clothes if the men standing on the back would allow it, I thought with amusement; wouldn't that be a hoot? It was a dark mental image to be sure, but one that hinted at what I really wanted deep down; the maid someplace else, and out of my life…

…Zero empathy there, for a fellow human being going through some personal turmoil, I thought critically of myself later on, not some of my finer moments to be sure. Anger and rage can do that though, turn you into something you might not recognize, nor like…

…There was more than just a maid's uniform dress and accessories to this new female persona though, some new levels of personal hygiene and grooming were in order. Jim laid these out as well, as in clean shaven from nose to toe as often as is necessary, and nail polish on properly maintained nails too, all twenty of them. Her look was priceless; quivering-lip solemn-acceptance of this new life of hers, the tears just avoided, somehow. Is this what she anticipated might eventually happen, when she had pushed me to date Jim in the first place, when she had first signed my binding contract; as if this was just a big sexy locked up chastity game with no consequences at all? I wondered.

I was "volunteered" by Jim to help with the technical details, and to also reach anything she couldn't, shaving wise. I couldn't see Jim doing this himself, so it made sense, but I also half resented the forced nature of having to work with somebody I was fighting not to openly resent. But, Jim had asked me to do this, and his asking in this particular case was like a polite way of telling me to do it. Did Jim actually realize the depth of my suppressed hostility towards the new maid, his forcing us to work together towards a common goal intended to smooth this out? 

She wasn't overly hairy, for a man, but I think the weight loss may have even helped with this. I don't know if such things eventually lowered one's testosterone, or if a guy having their guy parts locked up and unused did this naturally, given enough time without a proper orgasm. I wondered abstractly about the long term medical consequences, or if the proverbial plumbing eventually just became clogged from non-use, or even if her man bits simply stopped producing once they became full, or overfull. Any muscle will atrophy from non-use, and while not quite a muscle, certainly some of the same principals must apply. And, if strenuous exercise increased a man's testosterone and elevated his libido; didn't that imply that a lack of the same would reduce or even eliminate it?

There were obviously a lot of unknowns here yet, but I will admit that it was strangely satisfying dressing her up head to toe that first time, my seething rage cooling slightly with our interaction, with her total unconditional surrender. It was someplace here that I first realized that we might be doing this "for" her, and not "to" her, this starting a change in the dynamic between us. I then caught myself showing her my world in an almost caring way, as in you put this on and adjust it like this, and you shave your legs like that, and you point and crunch your toes when you slip your stockings on… There were a million things that this brand new woman didn't know about this new life, things I took for granted.

It felt to me as if finally finding the proper places for these strange puzzle pieces, as if this is what this person before me was truly meant to be. I had always scoffed at that concept when I had read about it; being born in the wrong body and all of that. But, being a part of this as I now am, I started to form a new point of view. We weren't punishing the maid with this transformation, but possibly, maybe, rewarding her. She needed to be nudged though, pushed along, for her own good. Why hadn't my husband confided in me that this is what he was after? Why also hadn't he ever let slip even the slightest clue that he was curious in this way? It was a mystery to be honest, but I was making several assumptions to get there too…

This was almost reminiscent of a younger innocent age, and playing with my Barbies, although this one before me was obviously life sized, and not quite so proportionally well endowed as the toy. She was pretty much a full padded A cup as I had guessed when buying her new undergarments for her, not that she necessarily "needed" a bra, but wearing one as a condition of her servitude going forward was just a further reminder of her feminization, and of what she no longer was. It was a new life, perhaps an even more fitting one, but she'd best adapt quickly, or get run over and consumed by the experience.

There was, after all, nothing at all wrong with being a woman, I liked it just fine and hoped I projected this, and so likely would the maid, in due time. This was new for her though, and it took courage as well to go down this lightly traveled road, but getting shoved down this particular path as she was I think took just a little less courage, in her mind she could always default to the "I have no choice here" state of mind. Was this Jim's gift to the maid, "forcing" her to do something that she didn't have the courage to do on her own? And, was I therefore the prize that Jim would take for doing the deed, after the deed was done? Was this the real reason why it seemed that the maid came first between us?

From a more practical point of view, the maid would also benefit from the shape her new padded bra gave her, under her snug uniform dress, just like a flat chested thin athletic hard bodied natural woman might. The cups weren't in exactly the right place though, I accidentally discovering that "guy" boobs and natural female ones don't have the same proportional chest spacing; imagine that! The bra I had bought in her proper chest band size would work in the short term, but I could maybe see a proper fitting in her future too.

Wouldn't that be fun? I thought. Just us "girls" out at the mall clothes and lingerie shopping, and maybe even a proper fitting too, at an upscale boutique, for the brand new to femininity girl…

She was also a "blank slate" that I could even practice on, makeup wise; certainly no longer what most would consider a man, but not exactly a woman either. We could possibly present her as the latter, but she would have to do her part to make this work. This was therefore quite literally "no-man's-land," and the concept made me re-realize the commitment here. If it took courage to be Jim, it took at least that much, and maybe even more, to be the new maid. She was leaving quite literally everything behind for this new life; this wasn't like emigrating to a new country where you didn't speak the language, this was like going to another planet…

…Something had obviously changed in my mind with this interaction between us, I was no longer rooting on the inside for her to be crushed and fail, for vengeance, but instead for her success; in whatever she was after in life. If I wanted to be happy in life, why shouldn't she be too? I didn't know how all this would play out in the end, but hopefully Jim had a plan for this too…

I had even played with some different kinds of makeup on her, although it almost seemed surreal, as if she were paralyzed with shock and in full-surrender mode, almost like I was working on a complaint mannequin; although her man styled eyeglasses obscured my efforts. I had her leave them off for a bit so I could work on her eyes, those and her trapped man bits the only real remaining physical evidence that she was once a man at all. Well, to be honest, her voice, walk, and rough skin were still less than feminine too, not to mention her uncut and unstyled "moppy" hair.

…They made endless varieties of lotion for her now shaved skin, although hers was actually softer than Jim's. But, I'm unsure if this was in comparison to Jim's "hairy man" unshaved body, or if hers was slowly getting softer with her feminization. As far as her talking, she could work on that, but in reality if she didn't say a word in the short term, she could still function just fine as she was. As a maid she really only had to listen and then do, to put it crudely, or at best give simple one word softly spoken answers…

I had a friend, Kathy, who had a chair in a local salon, and she could at least help me with her hair; it's what she did professionally, and she was devilishly good at it. She sometimes came over and did my own hair after hours for both cash, and convenience, so it wasn't very much of a stretch to have her over to touch up my own hair for the upcoming party, and then femininely bob the new maid's hair as well; if Kathy was actually willing. This would be the maid's first exposure to another while she was dressed up though, and Jim and I thought it a good experience for her to have, bearing in mind the upcoming party she and I were to work together, although we hadn't told her specifically very much about it. She didn't really need to know, and practically speaking, she would be doing the same kinds of things she did every day, just in a new location, and for a new and demanding boss; with a potential axe to grind.

I think my salon friend Kathy might have initially thought she wasn't charging enough when my new maid answered the door for her, but she quickly realized that this particular maid was quite special. I didn't see any of this as all that big of a deal personally, her dressing up was just the next incremental step, but I had not thought of that person as manly or masculine in quite some time, so to me this new persona just made more gender sense. To me it was nothing more than making sure the proverbial wrapping paper matched the contents of the box.

I have since read that guys dressing up in their houses - either of their own desires, or somewhat compelled to for a host of kinky reasons - and going out in public with other people actually seeing them, were two entirely different things. I guess it made sense logically, but I simply never gave it all that much thought, possibly because I hadn't seen her as anything even remotely manly since before that first overnight date with Jim. In a new and understanding part of my mind there was nothing to hide, nor reveal, this was simply who this person was to me now. In other words, this human was a useful feminized domestic tool, with locked up and ever shrinking emaciated guy parts, to keep her from getting needlessly distracted while she did our bidding.

Yes, I had noticed her shrunken condition in the bath, when I had helped her shave her back; there was some very serious shrinkage going on inside that little glass device these days. I might have discounted the size comparison based on what I now had on a regular basis, Jim after all was a very large man, but the transparent glass structure was of a known and fixed size, and I could see the obvious difference in the fit. As small as that device was, and being transparent too, I could see that there was all kinds of room in it now. And her allegedly testosterone producing man bits were shrunken and emaciated as well, and now no larger looking than two tiny grapes, where Jim had two small potatoes in comparison. The fact that she still had them, even in their present pathetic and unusable condition, seemed like the one thing in the proverbial picture that didn't belong; in my mind she simply had no use for them, no real business having them either…

Kathy had nervously laughed when I first suggested the possibility of that second haircut and style for my new maid over the phone, but once she came over and actually saw her in her uniform dress, makeup, and heels, she realized our somewhat unique need. It was a challenge for her artistic abilities to be sure, but I had let my former husband's hair grow quite long, so there was at least something to work with, volume-wise. Instead of the bob that I thought would work, she suggested more of a sexy shag type cut, as it would compliment her facial shape better, and give her a more "alluring" look; Kathy's words, not mine.

I wasn't all that concerned about the latter, but at some point we would have to address that little problem as well; as in "sexy and alluring to whom specifically?" That was however the proverbial eight hundred pound gorilla in the room. I didn't want to ever see, nor even know the specific details of that though; some things just weren't very sexy to me. My feminized maid and former husband servicing a man in any sexual way certainly qualified as not sexy to me at all. I understood now that such might eventually happen, she may even desire it so as to have the complete experience, but I didn't want to ever watch or anything like that; I just knew I couldn't unsee that if I did. This was hypocritical of me to be sure, because Sheila making use of me in girl on girl fashion, as I was stripped naked and bound to Jim's unique bed, was incredibly sexy and erotic to me. Call it a double standard, two girls: hot as hell, two guys: have all the fun you want, but I don't want to watch…

I got caught a little short when my friend asked the maid's name, she never had met Jack in his former male persona, even though she had been to my house several times. It would have been easiest to feminize her male name and just call her Jackie, but that name was my own and obviously already taken, and something other than "hey you, get your lazy maid ass over here!" would have to be worked out well before the party. I couldn't believe Jim and I had both forgotten a little necessary detail like that, but in all fairness this was uncharted territory for all three of us, and at home with us she didn't need a name.

When we wanted the maid's attention, we simply rang a little antique crystal bell that was always nearby, saving either one of us any excess conversation with her. One talked to equals, or even near equals, but one summoned subordinates any way she pleased, and then issued instructions. And, with only three of us in the house, "hey you, get your lazy ass over here!" was always an option, the maid would understand that such a tone was reserved for her alone, if we ever actually had the need.

…There was something else going on here at the same time, and this lack of forethought about a more fitting feminine name for the maid was indicative of this comfortable mindset. The maid did things around my house that I didn't have to any longer, mundane and task=repetitive boring things. And, while that was a good thing for me in one respect, there was also an element of having to "deal" with the maid on a daily basis, in my home, the home that was once hers too. In other words, even with everything she had personally given up to get "here," she was still in what she could consider her home, and there was a comfort in that. She had to perform outside my home too though, take this proverbial show on the road…

Jim had taken over a great deal of that daily directional minuta by having a daily chore list on a white board that he updated when necessary, which I appreciated. But, the maid, for all her free labors, was still something that had to be dealt with and managed; as in an overall liability to me, and not necessarily an asset. And even fully feminized, appearance-wise, and looking almost nothing like a husband; just seeing her every day in my home was a constant reminder of my failures, of my poor judgement in allowing her lies to fester. Just looking at her had made me sour and bitter for quite some time, and even though I tried to hide this, I don't know that I was hugely successful for a while there. I now had some small level of compassion for her, but I had also wasted some of the very best years of my life with her, and try as I might to forgive, it still bothered me. This wasn't one hundred percent fair to the maid, she was trying, and she certainly had her own unique challenges as well.

There was a second element here too, I was raised in a working class family, and didn't really "need" a maid. Oh, it was nice to be able to stay late at work if I wanted, or go to the gym after work instead of rushing home to cook and clean, but I wasn't thinking the one justified the other. The maid was more of an intrusion in my home, and I couldn't help but to think that Jim and I might be able to work on our new relationship just a bit more efficiently, if the constant reminder of my previous mistaken one wasn't quite so "under foot" all the time, even while trying to be helpful. To make a long story short, the maid needed us far more than we needed her in this present family unit configuration, but I didn't know what to do about that in the long term. Jim and I worked all day, and the maid was home all day; was this really fair to us?

I texted Jim at work while my friend was getting to work on the maid, simply telling him the maid needed a name. He texted back "Alice" like half a minute later, as in The Brady Bunch Alice I assumed. He also told me in his text that he would have some name tags made up for the both of us in town, and bring them home that night. It was then that the personal enormity of all this hit me, I would be wearing a name tag myself, just like a hired- for-real maid, a domestic servant. In other words, I was really doing this, in effect selling myself off to Sheila so that she could use and possibly even degrade me, all in front of her invited and presumably wealthy friends, who may or may not know the true story going on between us four.

"Get this, fetch that, why are you so clumsy?" Or lazy, or stupid, or whatever else she could dream up, all to remind Jim what he had given up in choosing me over her, although I didn't really know who dumped who. At some level though it just didn't make complete sense. At least in my case I knew what was potentially coming, where my maid, from now on to be known as Alice, was blissfully ignorant. But, I reminded myself, Jim knew that I was doing this not only for him, but for Sheila as well, and were she to take too heavy a hand with me, such would make her look truly evil and not just playfully vindictive, so at least there was that.

The shag cut turned out quite sexy, and it was a good transitional cut too, not too much daily maintenance for the "new woman." Allowing her hair to grow in some more would make it easier to do something longer and even more feminine with it next time, a year or more down the road maybe. Alice might not have been thinking in such "long" terms, but I certainly was, contract be damned. The old Jack was pretty much dead to me, and Alice the maid was little more than an employee without a paycheck to write, one I could quite easily live without. That was her true worth to me in that present mind set, evil and cold sounding as that was. I went back and forth between some genuine empathy, and cruel veiled hostility in those days, again, not some of my finer moments, but I didn't entirely understand what was going on here. Were we really doing this to her, or for her?

My hairdresser friend was showing off the finished product to Alice, and giving some makeup tips that would compliment her face and new hair. I was only so good with makeup myself as I didn't really like to wear it, so my own was what one would call minimalist in application. Kathy then showed off her work with the aid of two mirrors, just like she would to any other woman actually at her salon, and the normalcy of this abnormal situation hit me. Alice had no real choice anyway, other than tapping out and using her safeword, but I also realized that if that hadn't happened yet, it likely never would. Alice's miniscule reserve masculinity was shrinking as fast as her shrunken man bits, they mostly unrecognizable for what they once were, as if a distant and tiny unfortunate creature in your rearview mirror, one that you just ran over and obliterated at highway speeds…

We ladies were just talking, with Alice mostly listening, as my friend complimented me on the condition of my home, a second time.

"Your house looks perfect," she told me. "I have to tell you that I'm envious, we both work lots of hours lately as we're saving for a house ourselves, and the cleaning up part ends up being a last priority. I just wish my place looked like this."

The newly named Alice looked at me with a deer in the headlights look, she knew me well enough from years of marriage to know where I was possibly going with all this. Jim's Visiting Maids concept also popped into my head, as did his very early suggestion that Jack could play maid for him, back on our first dates. To be fair though, my friend was leading the conversation in this direction by design. There was of course the balloon, and the note and key that went with it, this concept of playing maid someplace else, for someone else, just waiting in the proverbial wings. Why not just get this show on the road right now, get a jumpstart on it?

"I very much appreciate your efforts in all this, but I think it's important that Alice says thank you in her own way too, like any other proper lady would. She doesn't have any money of her own though, and I hadn't really considered that a problem up until now to be honest, but I think good manners demand that Alice gives you 'something' personally, to say thank you, in her own way."

"You do like the new hair, don't you Alice?" I prodded my about-to-be-steamrolled maid, new and opportunistic thoughts swirling in my head.

"Yes ma'am, it's magnificent" Alice agreed, whether she really liked it, or if she was just shell shocked and still coming to terms with her new feminine persona wasn't entirely clear to me, but I didn't really care one way or the other. Success and failure were both options on the table at this point, she had to decide which she wanted. Her tone was at least soft, but I wasn't sure if that was because she had late second thoughts, or if this was her way of sounding more softly feminine.

…Does one grow into the costume? I wondered flippantly. I still cared, in a way, but she was foolishly in the way of my future happiness, although perhaps still a useful tool to somebody; somebody else though. I could always replace that tool, or perhaps even live without it; I had lived my whole life without a maid except for the last few months, I didn't really NEED one. Yes it was nice, but the price I paid was pretty steep too, and I didn't know if the one equaled the other…

"And you do believe that my good friend, who has taken time from her busy day, should be properly compensated for her efforts in your regard, don't you?" I prodded, the sadistically evil plan further forming in my mind on the fly…

"Yes ma'am I do, but I have no money of my own, you know that!" Her words sounded just a tiny bit sassy to me; and I, or Jim, would have to deal with that eventually. But, I also knew that this was due to her unchanneled nervous stress at where this was potentially going.

"Yes, but I have to say that I don't like your sas one little bit! And, while you don't have any cash of your own, you do have some meger marketable skills that some still find useful."

"I have an idea," I told my hairdresser friend, "how about you and your husband take a night off, go out to a movie, or maybe even have the maid cook your dinner. You can borrow my maid and use the crap out of her for the night, overnight really, so that you can wake up to a spotless house yourself, maybe even breakfast in bed? Dishes, laundry, meals, even a full and deep cleaning, she can do all of it. She can be like your part time Visiting Maid, it's an idea that Jim had for a little side hustle business venture of his, and I would actually appreciate you doing this for us; taking her and the concept for a proverbial test drive. Give her a clear list of the things you want done, and let her have at it., but I'll need good critical feedback, as in anything that's less than perfect must be documented, so that we can correct this with her going forward."

…Such would actually be good practice for the upcoming party, but she would have to work on her walk, and her voice too. Neither were all that feminine, and if passing Alice for a for-real woman was our eventual goal, we had some serious work to do with both. At least her encased guy hardware wouldn't be making any unsightly appearances, so there was at least that.

Then an even more fitting concept occured to me, we could rename Jim's efforts "Visiting 'Trans' Maids" and in this way have a bit more truth in advertising. This way our customers would know exactly what they were getting, what they were paying for as it were. Not that I wanted to go all the way "there" in my mind, as the concept did nothing for me personally, but our customers could then know what "might" be possible, once the cleaning part of her job was complete, but thankfully well out of my sight. Did she even want this, as an end game "I'm finally there" kind of thing?

"I must admit that I do like the idea, but it sounds expensive."

"Consider it our little insignificant gift to you, as a small token of our appreciation for all you've done to make this happen."

The freshly renamed Alice looked at me with that "please don't make me do this" look, but I only smiled in sadistic response. She would be getting just a bit more fully into this new role of hers now, if my hairdresser friend actually accepted. If having somebody new over to my house to see her in her new feminine persona was traumatic, going out in public, and then to my friend's place in her full maid's uniform on her own, with my friend's husband in attendance, would be doubly so.

I then took my friend aside so we could talk, and I asked if she was really okay with this, to which she enthusiastically told me yes. I asked her discreetly if she thought Alice could maintain the illusion of her femininity for her husband, and if we could make this our goal. I also asked a few other things, and told her to have fun with this, to treat it like a big game. I told her the maid really liked this stuff, but that she needed to be pushed along in the role to get what she needed from it, the rougher the better.

…Alice's last look back at me when leaving with Kathy was amusingly pathetic, like she was going to the gallows to hang for her crimes; as if this was a fitting punishment for allowing Jim to take me away from her with little more than a token amount of half-hearted resistance. Was this all I was worth to what had been my one time husband? That was one of the other thoughts that kept bubbling up in the back of my mind the rare times I thought about our new and odd living arrangements. I hadn't objected to "his" feminization, but neither really had my former husband. Perhaps feminine, or at the very least "less than manly," was what she was deep down, and perhaps we were just bringing out the real her, painfully scraping off all that faux masculinity… after realizing that she had been pretty much a full on failure at being a man? Did Jim already know this, and is this the secret the two share, the one guaranteeing that Jim will always get his way between the two?

This also meant that Jim and I would have the house to ourselves, this would be an almost first as we didn't like to leave the maid home overnight to get into mischief, and we hadn't since our awesome city date. The maid being home didn't "completely" cramp our sex life, but it was a limiting factor for me, and I was hopefully optimistic as to how things would go without her there. A playful idea then crossed my mind; since our maid was off playing maid somewhere else for the night, I thought Jim might still like to have a maid of his own anyway. I already had the uniform for the party, and I knew it fit, but I hadn't actually worked in it yet, and I hadn't tried it on yet for Jim either. I then thought it might be fun to "gift" myself to Jim first, before I gifted myself to Sheila and her rich friends.

I met Jim at our door dressed as his maid, and with a gin and tonic in hand, which was my prefered way to greet him when I had some news for him that he might not like. He took in the uniform with a smile, but then quickly asked about Alice. I explained our deal, and asked him belatedly if he minded me giving her away for the night without asking first.

"What if I did?" he asked with a smile, clearly liking this uniform on me, and possibly having the house to ourselves for the night too.

"Well sir, in that case you might have to punish me later" I offered, "but please do that after dinner, as it's nearly ready."

My "sir" routine wasn't lost on him in the least, and I nearly creamed my panties when he took my nametag out of his pocket and pinned it on my lapel personally. I felt like Jim's newest junior employee, an underling, nothing more than a humble servant trying her best not to piss off the boss on her first day. The eroticism of the moment was nearly overwhelming, and being dressed as a simple servant, his simple servant, just WOW! He then stood back and snapped a picture of his new, subservient maid, with an actual name tag in place. I had worn a nametag on my uniform back when I was in highschool and working in a fast food restaurant, and this brought me all the way back to that twenty something year old, just out of college, assistant manager, and his flirty way with me. It never really went anywhere, this more innocent than anything else, but it was exciting for the then teen me to be "chased" by an older "man" like that.

If not for the kink of the situation, I might not necessarily like the cooking and cleaning part of this little dress up and pretend game we have going on, but with that as motivation I plow through my few chores. In my mind I think that if I'm wearing the costume, I'll play the part. The house is quite clean already, perfect really, so the only maid-like thing I really had to do earlier was run the vacuum where Alice's hair had fallen, it's the first time I had run that thing in months. I'm really looking forward to later on though, hoping that Jim can have me screaming my head off. I don't really let go like that with the maid in the house, even though I could, as something about that seems wrong and trashy. Bearing in mind what we've done to the maid already this seems ridiculous, but that's just the way I felt. I don't really like her listening in, suspecting she might get something vicarious out of that, as if I'm here for her entertainment; but I've had these same thoughts before. And, I way don't ever want her watching Jim and I either, as something about that feels like a serious intrusion on our privacy, and the antithesis of anything sexy for me.

My simple dinner turned out well enough, so at least I haven't completely forgotten how to cook, but I have cooked since having our maid; although only when I felt like it, with her left the kitchen cleanup part. This just feels so much more intimate without Alice in the house; I feel it, and apparently so does Jim. His hands are all over me, and I think to myself that if dressing up like his litttle maid does this for him, I just might have to do this more often, or even sex up this uniform just a bit more next time.

This feels like way back on our city date, and I like that feeling, the alone, just him and I feeling. I'm dressed as his subservient little maid, and while my uniform isn't specifically sexy, as in French maid sexy, it still shows a fair amount of leg, and it's cut compliments my shape nicely. I'm also sir-ing him to death, he's the alpha male top dog boss of this house at the moment, and I'm the hired help, so for me, in this game, Jim doesn't even have a first name.

Truth be told, Jim has been far better to me than I've been to him throughout this ordeal, and that in combination with my unique adventure with Sheila bothers my conscience. I haven't exactly outright lied to him, but I am guilty of being deceptive, guilt by omission, one could argue. My former husband did much the same thing to me, in addition to actual lies, so I'm also guilty of being a class A hypocrite too, on a whole host of subjects.

It was just Jim and I that night though, and I didn't want to ruin the night as it was shaping up to be a fun one, but this was also the perfect opportunity to clear my conscience. Nobody else was home to hear the potential argument either, so that they could possibly use it to gain some kind of advantage, if she even wanted one at this late hour…

"Sir, would you be crossed with me if I told you something?"

"Possibly" he answers, he's still in this improvised maid and boss game we have going on at the moment, and I am having second thoughts on broaching this subject with him at this particular time. It's an internal struggle I'm having, so cautiously I offer just a little bit of what's on my mind, my thinking is that if he's receptive; I'll tell the whole tale and clear my conscience. I've done this before with others, it's a useful tactic for me when breaking bad news, or potentially bad news.

"I ahhhh, I know what else that bed of yours can do."

"Do you now? And how did you come to this knowledge?" And when he asks this his tone is still mostly smiling and playful, so far, so good I thought.

"Sheila showed me," I confessed, although this obviously wasn't the entire confession.

"Told, or showed? Words mean things you know" Jim's voice taking on just a bit more serious tone, like with an underling at the office.

"I agree, they do. 'Showed,' as in demonstrated sir," and I think to myself, that might be as far as I should take things right now, unless he asks me a very direct question that I have to answer truthfully. 

"And I'll bet the two of you had a delightful conversation too, didn't you?"

"Something like that" I answered in a relieved fashion. Had he wanted to know the exact details he could have asked me in such a way that I would have been compelled to tell him, or lie; but he didn't. What did this tell me? I further wondered.

"Come with me!" Jim barks, and from his firm tone alone I can tell that a switch has been flipped, a decision made, and he's no longer the least bit interested in talking. Are we still in this maid and boss-man improvised game we had going on? I wonder. I saw this in him at the hotel on that second day, that singular focus on his manly needs… And that of course had led to his belt binding my wrists; that being the thing, the event, that had made me curious about all things restraint, and that had been just magnificent!

His words were hardly necessary though, as he by then had my left wrist clamped tightly in his right hand and he was almost dragging me in the direction of our bed. His hand was clamped on me like a vise, and I was definitely going where he wanted. This was no ease the covers back, kissy face and snuggle up in preparation to make love though, but something rough and animalistic. Jim then swats the covers and pillows from the bed in an angry violent sweep of his free arm, taking the far side end table lamp off of it's table in the process.

He apparently doesn't care, likely wouldn't care either if he just knocked a hole in the wall with it; he was a beast on the hunt, and I was what he was hungry for. I'm not afraid though, but more cooperatively caught up in his lust. In a way, I did this to him, but I want this too, although I don't exactly know what "this" is just yet. Is he going to strap me down and whip a confession out of me, or just strap me down and have at it? I am obviously more jazzed up about the latter, but I'm also committed and along for the ride, wherever it goes.

He then flips me onto the bed like a rag doll and tells me not to move, reconfiguring the headboard into it's more mediaeval stock looking configuration. If I really didn't want to do this, it would take more than one man to bind me to this strange bed, but I'm willingly along for the ride. My wrists only are placed into the lower half circles with my head still on the mattress, and then the top part is slid down, trapping my wrists spread out wide over my head. Jim locks this in place and comes around to my ankles, roughly pulling me down the bed and making me feel like this is a medieval rack. But, without stretching me painfully there is just no way both of my ankles are reaching past the footboard far enough to lock them in place with it. Simply put, this custom bed was designed to hold taller people than me, most certainly with my wrists so farly spread out over my head.

There is this frantic "I must have you right now!" feeling in the room, and my lack of stature has apparently thrown Jim off his game for a moment. Did he ever handle Sheila like this, and if so did she like it? I wondered. My wrists are trapped and I'm not going anywhere though, and I maybe expect that he's next going to bend me in half like Sheila did, and then stuff my ankles into the upper holes and lock me in place. There's still a great many things we could collectively do from there, but I'm also still fully dressed, except for my heels, which have fallen off someplace along the way, so this limits our options, short of destroying a uniform dress that I'll need in the very near future.

Jim instead kicks off his pants and boxers, and his massive manhood springs up like a fleshy sword that has a mind of its own. The veins are standing out like angry green throbbing worms just under the surface of it's thin skin, all that blood under great pressure inflating him in readiness to do the deed. It looks actually painful, it's so engorged with blood, but I don't know if that's even a thing with men. I'm still mostly on board, desire-wise, although this isn't exactly how I thought bringing this bed fully into our sex life might go.

I'm stretched out on our bed with my arms pinned high and wide, and he has me pulled down towards the footboard, the restraint part of this doing something magical for me, although this is rougher than I thought it would be in my mind. Jim has a way of doing that though; surprising me with his version of things. He then flips up my half hiked dress the rest of the way and roughly grabs my panties at both hips, likely to rip them off of me. Jim is a passionate clothes ripper, and I ordinarily find that sexy and hot in the moment - although expensive afterwards - but the panties that I'm wearing are thick, plain, and new cotton ones, bought specifically to match this uniform dress, the kind that are meant to be "accidentally" seen. And, I think they'll hurt me when he rips them from my body. In cooperation I raise and hold my legs together with bent knees, not only saving me from replacing something that's brand new, but also wordlessly telling him, reaffirming for him, that I'm still willing to go where his lust is apparently taking us.

He manages to get my somewhat unsexy panties off without destroying them, tossing them over his shoulder as just one more thing in his lusty frantic way. He then grabs my right ankle in his left hand brutishly and picks me up by it, twisting my hips and half my butt off of the bed in the process. He's kind of straddling my outstretched left leg, forcing my body into a quasi-split, and making my womanhood feel as if it's gaping. I'm a juicy hot mess down there though, and with his free hand he gets his painfully erect self where he needs to be, sliding him around my slick entrance a few times before plunging in like an impatient monster.

This is not even close to "making love," this is raw fucking, a course rude word that I seldom use, for an equally course and rough action. Jim is using my body as a convenient warm socket to sate his lust, what specifically I did to wind him up like this a quasi-mystery - as in which specific element of our evening - but it's something I must obviously explore. He isn't even focusing on me, but instead he's looking at the headboard, or maybe even off into space, in a kind of "I don't think I know you" kind of way. If he had done this the very first time we had made love, not only wouldn't there have been a second time, but he most certainly would have injured me too, tiny and tight as I was back then.

I know this man though, I know his heart, and I also know he can be gentle; so while this is different, I'm not really afraid, but more curious. Were somebody else watching though, or listening through the walls, well they would likely think something bad and unwanted were happening.

I'm accustomed to his length and girth now too, so while this isn't exactly what I had in mind, it's not the near assualt it would appear to anybody watching. Nobody can ever see this! I've already concluded in my mind, although I'm disinclined to have anybody watching me do anything relating to matters of the flesh anyway. Such things for me are very private, just making out with Jim on our dates with what was then our chauffeur in attendance was about as far as I wanted to go with somebody watching.

Even this apparently isn't rough enough for Jim though, as his repeated drilling thrusts are driving my head towards the headboard. He next clamps down even tighter on my right ankle, tight enough to leave bruises, while his muscular right arm wraps around the upper thigh of my elevated right leg, to use it as a convenient lever to not only anchor me in place, but to mash our bodies together even more forcefully. I hear and feel the rapid staccato slap, slap, slap of our bodies coming together, as could anybody else if they were home and listening. I also feel those same violent shockwaves ripple through my entire body, all the way to my teeth. I'll have some bruises down there too before this is all done; although the way he's hammering into me even he can't last very long doing it.

If I was nude he'd be able to see the violent shockwaves he was causing ripple through my body - if he was looking - but that doesn't stop me from feeling them though. I can also feel myself already perspiring under my uniform, my body making excess heat like madd and not having anywhere to go with it, clothed as I still am. This has all happened so fast though, and I think to reposition myself a bit as it feels like Jim is about to dislocate my hip, but when I go to move my arms to do so I am reminded of the bed's firm hold; I'm simply not going anywhere until Jim is good and done with me, done with my body.

…My mind then wanders in a certain way, I can't move, not really. Jim has my legs, and my arms are pinned in place. Why do these things seem to excite me so? I ask myself rationally. I don't realize all the little unique building blocks that went into making me who I am specifically, at that particular moment, but these "hold me down and make me struggle" things simply do. I relent and give in to the moment, as illogical as it is. I'm nothing but a naughty lying maid, singled out by the master of the household and about to sate his animalistic urges, with little apparent choice in the matter. The lust of the moment washes over me like a warm wave of acceptance, and I'm almost someplace else myself, although I don't realize that I'm also staring off into space, just like Jim. I'm smiling though, Jim telling me this himself later.

…Sheila had herself bound me with this bed, interrogated me, and she pretty much face raped me on it afterwards. I really can't seriously call it that though, because I had been a willing participant then. She even lightly whipped me that day, and tickle tortured me too, and I have to admit that the entire episode was hot as hell. I also gave in to her that day, submitted to her, and I even gave her something that she didn't feel the need to give me in return, twice, establishing her dominance over me for all time with those simple lusty acts. I also learned the rest of the story from her point of view, and that opened my heart to her.

If I didn't fully fess up to Jim though, tell him everything that occurred on that day, every detail, Sheila would forever have a lever of her own with which to move me as she willed. In not confessing EVERYTHING to Jim, I was in effect giving Sheila the gift that would keep on giving… and it was with this in mind that I kept my secret, as irrational as that now seems.

How could Sheila use this gracious gift of mine, if she even realized that it existed? I wondered.

Any way she may like. I then answered in my mind, it was an awesome power that I was freely giving her, but the "why" of it was a mystery. It obviously wasn't tatictly wise to give her this, or any other kind of power over me, but I felt, in a strange kind of way, that she deserved it, for gifting me her former husband, for baring her injured heart to me, even though this surely hadn't been her intention. Also in there someplace was the fact that for me to remain silent with Jim was easier in the short term, and maybe even mentally the more lazy path.

With that internal conflict somewhat cleared in my mind, realizing that the decision was hers going forward, and not mine, I can more easily concentrate on the matter at hand, and I feel the mother of all orgasms start to painfully build. I'm anchored at my hips by Jim's powerful grip, and his position overtop my left thigh, and my wrists aren't going anywhere either, but everything in between starts to gyrate as if I'm dancing lewdly on stage for a hundred horney men at some porn palace truck stop strip show. My body is doing this "dance" on it's own, reflexively. I could stop it if I really wanted to, but I passively let my body do what it wants, as I watch almost like a spectator.

Jim obviously feels this new motion under him, perhaps reminding him that this warm body that he's intimately using as nothing more than a pleasure socket, for his manly aggressions, has a mind and will of its own. We then make eye contact, he and I, and I make no effort to hide the insane lust he's driven to the surface with his restraint and rough handling. We've just reconnected emotionally, and I welcome this. If this is what they actually mean when they say "manhandled, '' I wonder why he'd waited so long to do it? Sheila had manhandled me too, in her own way, and that had actually been both fun, and educational; although she didn't take me all the way "there" obviously. I expected Jim to do so though; I thought I deserved this at least.

Jim was also a for-real man, and more than properly equipped for the job at hand; and as a result I had high expectations. I know I'm going to regret this later, like a punishing workout at the gym, but in the here and now I simply want this with every fiber of my being, and my special word remains unspoken as a result. My lewd sinuous dance under Jim then turns into something just a bit more frantic, but Jim only holds me tighter as if I'm trying to escape and presses on, drilling into me with an almost angry passion.

I feel the veins standing out on my head and neck, probably standing out almost like his own on his overinflated manhood; that I feel intimately. I also suddenly realize that I'm not breathing. Both of my hands, and my toes too, are clenched into "fists" as I struggle to go nowhere, struggling not to breathe as my body demands. I've caught myself holding my breath during other high stress situations, I don't know why I do this, but I simply do.

"BREATHE!" Jim tells me sharply, bringing me even more fully back into the game. This is no gentle suggestion though, it's an order, but my body responds all the same. The oxygen is good for me too though, it forces my body into a more normal rhythm, and it removes an unnatural stress. I can't possibly breathe as fast as he's drilling into me though, so our bodies are still out of sync in this, but the flood of oxygen soon has me almost all the way "there."

He could pull out of me, jump off the bed, and then go to the kitchen and make himself a sandwich or something, like any second; and I would be pinned to this bed and waiting for his return while I lost my ever-lovin-mind with unanswered lust and need! I was nothing but his trapped and needy prisoner, I realized.

My first breath, in I don't know how many seconds, sounds almost melodramatic though, but with it I smell the sweat and other smells of two people having passionate sex in a confined space. It assials my senses, and this in conjunction with everything else sends me over the edge. I don't have enough air to scream or anything like that though, but I make some very strange noises all the same, right up until everything kind of goes black…

"…Are you okay?" I hear softly in my ear, a hot and sweaty Jim right next to me and cuddling up on me, my arms still bound high and wide to the bed. He's rubbing my damp head tenderly, brushing the hair from my eyes, and I can tell something is wrong, something scared him. I guess that maybe I've passed out, but just for a few seconds, as any longer and Jim would have had the time to release me from his bed, or maybe the paramedics would be here..

"Yeah! But I think I'm done for the night."

"What happened?" he asks softly.

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I way got carried away, I think it's this damn bed, but I'm not entirely sure. We should get rid of it."

"Don't you dare! I've never experienced anything quite like that in my entire life, and I didn't use my special word either, did I?"

"I'm like an animal sometimes, but you just drive me absolutely wild; you bring out the very worst in me." Jim then smiled down at me, relieved that I'm not angry, nor hurt. My hair is everywhere, and I feel literally wet with my clothed exertions, in other words the antithesis of anything sexy at all.

"Should we consider this another Mulligan?" he asks, trying to find some humor in something that obviously scared him. Maybe he doesn't like what he just saw in himself, maybe even he doesn't like the loss of personal control. I saw it just a bit differently though, I, as in little old me, just drove this magnificent man to the brink of lusty insanity, and he was willing to show me that side of him, either consciously, or subconsciously. This was almost like our second night in the hotel, buty on steroids.

Sheila likely couldn't do this herself, she just wasn't wired that way. It's neither good nor bad, it's just the way we're individually made. I with my unique gifts and needs being a more custom fit for Jim and his own needs, and except for the maid we're almost perfect as a couple.

The maid has to go, I conclude in my mind. It's not her fault, but she's a reminder of my past failures, and an anchor to my unhappiness. I could live without this house and the present "knowing," or at least "suspecting," neighbors too. I needed a fresh new start myself, someplace else, but with Jim by my side. I also have to be sure Jim has the proper spin on things here, he just shared something private with me; let me see a side of him that isn't quite so polished and put together.

"No, I don't think so."

"Am I at least forgiven then?" his tone downbeat; he thinks he's really screwed up here.

"There's nothing to forgive, and no Mulligan either" I tell him softly.

"Buuuutttt… I do suppose you do have one big problem, Stud Muffin."

"What's that?" he asks seriously.

"How do you plan on topping that one?"


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