MAID IN AFRICA
By Sissy Mindy
My life changed because I'm too helpful. That's the truth. I suppose if you asked my wife Cynthia or my mother-in-law Debra they'd say my life changed because I'm weak - mentally and physically. They'd say my life changed because deep down I truly am nothing but a sissy and was masquerading as something else for too long and that my real place in life is in my maid's uniform, with my apron and cap and heels and tampons and panties and bras serving as reminders of my lot in life.
But I still say it's because I'm too helpful. Maybe you'll agree when you hear my story.
My name is Peter. I'm 38 and my wife is 34. We've been married for four years. She was from South Africa but had come to America to practice law. She was blonde, 5-7 and trim. Stunning. She came from money, South African money. Her family owned a piece of some diamond mines in that troubled country and Cynthia could have stayed in Johannesburg and never worked a day in her life. But she came to the United States to make it on her own and she did, quickly rising to the top of her law firm, owing to her incredible mind and, perhaps, incredible body. I never said anything to her but I always felt a bit uncomfortable seeing her around the head of the firm, an imposing woman named Brenda Jackson. They seemed overly friendly, not just boss-employee. At a picnic once, Brenda touched my wife on the shoulder and my wife dipped her head a bit. At the firm's last Christmas party at Brenda's massive house, I got tipsy and fell asleep for a spell in a chair and through my haze I thought I saw Brenda with her hand planted firmly on my wife's ass, leading her to a bedroom. But I figured it was the alcohol, especially on the ride home when my wife assured me I was being ridiculous and had seen things. I wasn't so sure.
Shortly after our wedding I lost my job in advertising and could not find anything for years. I did some freelance work from home but that mainly consisted of me surfing the Internet for porn. I golfed with my buddies. I went on road trips with my buddies, to Vegas, where I'd gamble - and lose - Cynthia's money. In bed I've never been anything special, at 4 inches I was self-conscious and often impotent so maybe that played tricks on my brain that night at the party, too. Cynthia must have been frustrated physically but she never let on, aside from little comments like, "Well, you did your best, little man," as my penis hung limply following a night of impassioned dry-humping.
She was also unhappy with what she called my laziness at home. Cynthia grew up surrounded by maids in her South African mansion. She never dusted, cleaned a dish, vacuumed, anything while growing up. She had her black maids there for her. Of course, I never did those things either growing up - I had my mom. And every girlfriend in my life, I made it quite clear it was girl's work. What, I'm going to scrape a toilet or make a bed?
I told Cynthia the same thing and when she saw I really meant what I said, she would reluctantly clean. She usually did it on weekends but sometimes after a 12-hour day at work she'd come home and clean our bathroom or dust the basement while I watched baseball in my underwear. She muttered the first few times but eventually just went about her work like a wife should.
We went to South Africa once a year. The trips were fine. South Africa's a pretty country, I guess. I don't know, I'm an American, I love America, America's the best country. I'm sorry if I felt a bit strange in that weird, hot land. My mother-in-law Debra raised my wife and her sister alone. Their father left the family when the girls were young; I never really learned the circumstances, although Cynthia once said at a South African dinner that her mother never needed a man for anything.
"What about sex?" I asked.
Cynthia, her mom and sister Melanie all sniggered and made eye contact, as if they'd heard the funniest joke ever. I just shook my head, confused.
We usually stayed for three weeks in South Africa and each time I just counted the days till we could return. Frankly, her mom intimidated me. I always felt like she was disapproving of me, when she wasn't sizing me up and coming to the conclusion I didn't measure up to her specifications for a husband for her daughter.
A powerful executive who made do without a man, she took no nonsense from anyone, especially the help. The family still had two maids in their mansion, who - in my eyes anyway - seemed to work nonstop. I'm not opposed to having help, especially if someone doesn't have a mother who does it. But in South Africa it just felt wrong when I'd watch these black maids in their black and white uniforms walk around, cleaning, doing my laundry, cleaning the dishes, making meals. It was probably white American liberal guilt but seeing blacks in South Africa in a subservient - maybe even submissive, with the way they curtseyed and said "Yes, mistress" and "No, master" - role made me queasy. It was like something out of 1850s America or 1960s South Africa.
I'd lay on our bed in a guestroom and pretend to sleep whenever either Cali or Tonya came in to clean. Cali was older, mid-40s while Tonya was in her early 20s. Two black maids, one who had been in the position for 20 years, the other who would be in it forever. Both attractive, no doubt. Wearing their black and white uniforms with aprons and caps, black shoes, working nonstop. When they did bend over, I tried catching a glimpse of the satin panties I had seen once, though I felt guilty doing so.
They called me master and were always asking permission to clean and I just mumbled okay. When eating, I squirmed when they'd place the silverware in front of me. And the cursteys! All the time with the ridiculous curtseys. When they left a room or said thank you or before they spoke, it was all just too much. These poor girls, why couldn't Cynthia's mom allow them to look for jobs that weren't so demeaning? Couldn't they have, I don't know, some white girls as maid, to equal things out? I expressed these concerns to my wife on various occasions but she didn't want to hear it, neither did her mom.
It was on our fourth trip to the country that my life changed.
My wife had gone out for the day with her mother and sister, leaving me alone with the maids for the day. I was determined to stay in our bedroom, reading, sleeping, counting down the days until we'd fly back to the USA. I only went into the kitchen for snacks when I knew they'd be out of there. But I was awake and watching TV in our bedroom when Cali entered to clean. I sighed outloud, hoping she'd get the clue that she could leave; didn't she realize I was the good guy here, that I was the one who felt uncomfortable at her position in the world?
Instead she went about her business, dusting ferociously and cleaning the bathroom that's attached to our guestroom. It took her forever, she must have been in there for 30 minutes. I don't really know why I said what I then said. If i could go back in time I'd have stayed quiet. But I didn't. And my life changed.
"Cali, can I help you out at all?"
Cali looked up from her knees, which she had been on for 15 minutes scrubbing the hardwood floor. She looked at me dumbly, as if I spoke French.
"You don't have to call me that, really. It's Peter. But I asked if I could help you with anything? Do you need a hand carrying the laundry out of the bathroom or something?"
Part of me wanted to help because I felt bad watching a black woman work so hard for me, a white man with all the power in the world. Part of it was I just wanted her out of the damn room so I could use the toilet in peace and then finish my book in peace before taking a nap. So if I could drag the laundry out of there down to the wash room, what was the harm?
Cali stood up now and maybe it was my imagination but she somehow seemed taller. I detected a smirk and in that instance my guts churned as I wondered if somehow I had done something I shouldn't.
"I was just kidding," I said quickly, but Cali seemed not to hear, perhaps because my voice had inexplicably dropped to a whisper.
"So, you wanna help Miss Cali, is that it?"
All I could do was shake my head and then drop it, anything to avoid looking her in the eyes, which now gleamed on her black face.
"No, I think you do want to help Miss Cali. I think you want to carry the laundry and if you carry it you might as well clean it, right? And if you're cleaning the laundry you can do dishes, can't you? And if you do dishes, you can sweep and dust, correct?"
She now stood next to the bed that I remained sprawled on, frozen in position.
"Up on your feet, girl. Now. Stand in front of Cali." She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot in front of her.
Girl? Did she say girl? What was happening here? Why couldn't I go back to five minutes earlier and kept my mouth shut. And why couldn't I resist this black woman now, who had always seemed so meek, so subservient, even if, as I look back at it now, she more ignored me than respected me.
I could tell she was not leaving room for arguing. Throwing my book down on the bed, I scrambled to my feet. I stood 6-1, a good four inches taller than Cali but I now felt smaller. I had never noticed how strong her arms looked. She wasn't fat, no. She was solid, perhaps the product of years of work. Now she grabbed me firmly on the arm, just above my elbow and walked me over to the bathroom. She opened the hamper with her free arm and told me to take the clothes down to the first-floor washroom.
"And be quick about it. We have a lot of work for a helpful girl like you."
I threw the clothes into another basket and quickly walked out of the room and toward the steps. On the steps I met Tonya, who looked at me with wide eyes when she saw me clutching the basket.
"Where you going, master?" she asked, but I said nothing and walked down while she walked up.
In the washroom I was unsure what to do with the clothes so just left them on the floor and scampered back up the steps, though I should have run out of the house, to the airport, back home. When I walked back into the room Tonya had taken a seat on the chair at our desk. I had never seen one of the slaves, I mean maids, sitting in the presence of any of us. The young maid, who was smaller than Cali but a beauty who could be scooped up by a fashion designer and used in his shows, had crossed her legs and was smiling. Was she also chewing gum? The smacking distracted me, it seemed so rude to do in front of her master. Or whatever I was.
"Now, girl," Cali began, and I knew she wasn't talking about Tonya, "I want you to scrub the floor, sink and tub in the bathroom too. I had started it earlier and did the toilet but it wouldn't hurt if you gave that another go-around with the spare toothbrush on the sink." When she finished her commands I stood there like a dumb ox in the field. My head turned toward Tonya when I heard her girlish snickers but I was brought back to my new reality when Cali loudly said, "Girl! Now!"
I scampered into the bathroom, utterly confused, not just by the turn for the worse my life had taken but by what to do. I don't clean. Never had. Never would. Girl's work. And here I was being forced to do it. I searched under the sink for cleaning materials and found the extra toothbrush Cali mentioned. With the paper towels I found under the sink I scrubbed and cleaned the sink and mirror. I used some bleach on the tub - you use bleach on the tub, right? Quickly I worked up a sweat and my knees and shoulders started aching after 45 minutes, as I did my best to clean up the floor in the bathroom. Cali occasionally stepped in to look at me. She remained silent a few times but one time did say, "That's a girl, don't miss a spot. Cali proud of you. You make a nice little maid." I ignored the implications and continued my cleaning. Earlier I had heard her tell Tonya, "Go do the laundry the sissy took down," so at least the young black maid was no longer witnessing my degradation. But what had she meant by sissy? Sissies, like little pansies? Sissies wear panties and are drag queens, the type I use to make fun of in high school and college. Was I a sissy just because I was cleaning? Why did she call me girl and now sissy?
After an hour and a half of hard work, Cali again entered and stood in the bathroom, inspecting my work.
"Not bad, girl. For a first time. You'll get better. Come on out to the bedroom."
Grateful for the reprieve - and the compliment? - I put my cleaning tools away, dusted off my knees and walked into the bedroom, where Cali now sat on the edge of the bed.
"Tonya!" she cried out.
"Yes 'um," the young maid replied.
"Come back, please."
A few seconds later Tonya walked in and a few seconds later so did her smile as she saw me standing awkwardly in the center of the room, not knowing if I should lay back on the bed. I knew I had to wait for Cali to tell me what to do next. Tonya took her seat again at the desk while I nervously fingered my long T-shirt, and kept my eyes down.
"Now girl. We have a little bit of a problem here," Cali told me.
"What is it...Cali?"
"Well, first, you should call me Miss now. But that's not the big problem. You've been doing what you might think of as girl's work, right?" How did she know? That's exactly what it was and exactly what I had told all my girlfriends - and my wife - over the years. Cleaning, scrubbing, laundry - girl's work.
"But what are you wearing right now?"
It was a rhetorical question but one she apparently wanted a verbal answer to. "Shorts and T-shirt, Miss."
"Yes, shorts and T-shirt. Not very appropriate, is it? Tonya, do you think our new girl has appropriate clothing?"
"No, Miss Cali. Not at all."
I could see where this was going but felt powerless to stop it.
"What should you be wearing, girl?"
"Girl's clothes," I guessed.
"VERY good!" Cali exclaimed. "Such a smart head on our little girl. Girl's clothes. Girl's clothes like what?"
I remained silent, hoping the earth would swallow me up or I'd be struck down by a heart attack. At least I would die in men's clothes.
"Girl's clothes," I repeated. "Dresses and stuff."
"Mmmm, we'll maybe get to that. But what's the most important piece of clothing for a girl? What's the first thing a good girl puts on in the day?"
"Please, Miss," I begged. "All I wanted to do was help for a second and I felt bad watching you and Tonya work and I'm a dumb American and don't know how things work here and..."
"GIRL" Cali yelled and I stopped. "Stop your blubbering. What do girls put on first thing?"
"Panties," I whispered. Panties. I finally said it. Again, I knew I had taken another step towards...what?
"That's right, pretty panties for pretty girls. Now, I want you to take off your shirt, pull down your shorts and those boxers I always have to clean the stains out of and why don't you go over to your wife's drawer and pick out a nice pair of panties for yourself."
At this Tonya started clapping and I shot her a dirty look but it did nothing to dissuade her. I first pulled my T-shirt over my head, then the shorts. There I hesitated. How could I reveal myself to these two women, to these two servants? I grabbed the white boxers by the sides and took them down. Tonya's outright, rude laughter greeted me. I bet she had never seen a white man's penis before and if she had surely she hadn't seen one this small. I said I was 4 inches but that's hard. When soft, when scared, it's perhaps 1.5 and now it had crawled into a frightened shell, surrounded by hair. I covered my shame with my two hands and stood there for a second before turning toward the drawer. Before turning my back to her, I noticed a smirk on Cali's face.
I opened the drawer I had seen Cynthia pull her panties out of and started looking at them. I grabbed the most harmless pair, a simple pair of white, plain boring cotton panties.
"Bring them over, girl," Cali said and I went over to her, nude, and handed them to her when she beckoned with her hands. She held them up in front of her face and then held them up in front of my penis, tilting her head slightly to the left as she considered what they would like like on me.
"No, no, I think you can do better sissy. Why don't you try again."
Wandering back, I stuffed them down and fingered through the panties, trying to figure out what Cali wanted me to wear. I ignored a black G-string and a huge pair I told Cynthia looked like granny panties. Finally I found a pair of silky pink ones with a full rear and little bows in the front. Something inside me told me this is the pair Cali would want me to wear. I walked over to her and presented them to her for inspection. She held them again in front and then turned to Tonya and asked her what she thought.
"So pretty," laughed the little black maid, who was proving to be an able tormentor from the sideline. Cali beckoned and told me to step into the panties. One foot, then the other. She pulled them up my legs and I shuddered as they went over my penis and settled onto my hips with a snap. Still seated on the bed, she tugged them in the front, putting some pressure on my testicles, then rubbed my penis in the front through the silky material, making me grown. She roughly turned me around by grasping my hips and adjusted the panties in the back, playing with the waistband and leg bands until they were...just...so. "Very nice, sissy," she cooed. One of Cynthia's skirts was next and I again dug through until I found one that brought approval from Cali. By the time she had me rifling through a third drawer looking for a matching bra, I was on the verge of tears.
Cali now stood as she strapped me into it, telling me that "All girls remember their first bra." Tonya found a blouse for me and with both black maids standing next to me, each grabbed an arm and slowly walked me over to a full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I felt dizzy and like I might pass out. They stood me in front of it, forcing me to confront my new reality. As I stood there, Cali lifted the rear of my skirt and possessively rubbed the rear of my panties, whispering into my ear "You're going to be such a good sissy helper, aren't you?" Tonya snapped my bra strap and giggled, then did it again before I flinched my shoulder.
"Stop it," I barked out and Tonya's eyes got wide. She raised her hand and I thought she was going to slap me but Cali calmed her down and said, "Shh, shhh, relax, our sissy's just worked up." Cali walked me back to the bed. She lifted my skirt and began rubbing my penis, which much to my shock and humiliation stirred in its satin pink prison. I again let out a small almost-girlish moan.
"Ohh, is this why you're so jumpy?" Cali asked. Is that why I'm jumpy? No, it's because in the last two hours I had been turned from a master of the house, a white man with privilege wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a lazy man relaxing, into a pantied, bra-wearing...sissy, who was in his wife's skirt being controlled by two black maids. That's why I was jumpy, not because of a sexual need. Cali saw things differently and I would soon learn that as a sissy women always saw things different than me - and their view always won out.
"Let Cali help," she said and easily pulled me onto her lap before I had a chance to react. I briefly fought it but she easily controlled me and situated me to her liking, my head resting on her shoulder, my legs dangling off the floor while she gently rubbed my hair and somehow, even as I fought the feelings, made me feel a bit secure.
With one arm wrapped around my shoulder holding me in, I felt her other hand snake up my thigh and under my skirt. "Noo," I moaned but Cali told me to hush. She rubbed the front of the panty as she had when I was standing and this time my penis quickly rose. It felt so good to be touched; Cynthia no longer had sex with me and hadn't given me hand relief in at least six months. After manipulating my penis outside the panty for about a minute, she removed it and I next got the shock of my life. Cali had placed a finger at my ass, at the entrance actually and was pushing, gently, into it, although outside the panty still. I'd never had anything in there or even close - men didn't have things in their rectum. But with my penis worked up I was in a state that allowed me to be manipulated by this witch. Almost instinctively, I bounced up and down a bit on the finger, allowing it to move further into my butt and a part of me wished the panty wasn't serving as a silk barrier.
"There's a girl," she whispered to me as I dug my head further into her chest. "Cali knows what you need, sissy. We're going to make you nice and pretty, okay? Get you lots of panties and bras and someday get you a nice little uniform for you to wear when you clean." At this point I didn't care what she said and I tried opening my ass further. "You'll be such a good girl for Cali and Tonya." I nodded my agreement and she again put her hand toward the front of the panties, this time rubbing my penis and stimulating me to a point of insanity.
"Aaahh," I let out. "Please, please." Like a dog in heat, I had no pride. "Shhh," Cali reprimanded and she took my thumb and guided it into my mouth, silencing me. "Suck like a good sissy." I sucked my thumb while she played with me. When I felt the orgasm nearing I sucked harder while bucking my hips. Finally I erupted into the panty as Cali told me "There we go, let it all out. All out now." The orgasm seemed to last forever but was only a few seconds. I could hear Tonya say, "Miss Cali have you ever seen such a sissy," but Cali didn't respond. Cali let me relax for a few seconds but soon had me back on my feet. "Time to work now, girl." Dazed, certainly confused, I stood as Cali pulled my skirt in place and fussed with my hair, telling me, "Wish I had time to fix your hair properly." She then gave me a slap on the butt and told me to finish scrubbing the floor, which she had started until the fateful moment when I asked if she needed help with the laundry.
Cali and Tonya started walking out when I cried out, "Miss Cali, please, wait." Both women stopped and looked back at me, Cali with an especially annoyed look on her face. "What is it, girl?" I lifted my skirt slightly and rubbed my hand against the front of my soiled panty. I looked down and could see that the cum had stained a large portion of the front of the panty. The moisture felt quite uncomfortable. "Could I please change panties?"
"No," she said immediately. "You were such a good girl and squirted for Cali, I want you to feel it while you work." Tonya put her hand up to her mouth to giggle and they walked out. There would be no appeal on the panty verdict. Sighing, I set about my work, figuring the sooner I started the sooner I would be done and then I could relax again, maybe with a book again, take a nap and this would all be over.
I don't know how long I scrubbed that floor - an hour, two? - but all I concentrated on was the work. I'd never been on my knees on a floor before but somehow I knew if I didn't Cali would come up with a way to make me pay, though she hadn't actually threatened outright violence. I didn't think about the damp panties or the skirt or the tight bra holding me in or the blouse. And that's why I didn't hear Cynthia come in. Didn't hear her until she said, "WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" I slipped a bit on my knees and felt the skirt ride up a bit in the rear before I recovered and rose to my feet, shaking the hair that had fallen in front of my eyes away.
"Cynthia!" I exclaimed. "Please, I can explain."
Cynthia stood in the doorway with her shopping bags from the day's haul, her eyes wide in shock and a bit of rage. As she walked forward to me I stepped back, until I was against a wall as she took in the sight in front of her: Her husband, in a skirt and women's blouse - her skirt and women's blouse.
"I asked you what is going on here? Why are you in my clothes? Are you a pervert? Is that why you can't have sex with me because you're a crossdresser? Is this what you do all day when I'm working, earning money for our family."
What? No, god no. "Cynthia, I'm not, no. I'm not. This is Cali's fault."
The name seemed to stun Cynthia. She shook her head slightly. "Cali? The maid? What are you talking about?"
"She made me wear these clothes," I explained. "All I did was offer to help her with some of the laundry and--"
"Wait," Cynthia interrupted. "You offered to help. The maid. With the laundry? And what did she do?"
"She said if I was going to help with girl's work I had to look like a girl. She made me wear this."
Cynthia again shook her head and looked me up and down. "She made you. The black maid, Cali, made my husband wear women's clothes and scrub the floor."
There was a charged silence in the room before Cynthia reached forward and lifted up my skirt, holding it there while she took in the sight of her pink soiled panties clinging to my groin. "And the pink panties? And...oh my god, did you cum in them?"
I wanted to cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be in America, golfing or gambling or looking at porn. "I, um, Cali."
"Cali wouldn't let me change panties, I asked her."
"She wouldn't LET you change your panties? That's your answer. How about, why in the hell are you wearing panties in the first place? And how did you soil them?" I looked down in response and she said, "Never mind, I don't even want to know. Not yet." She told me to sit down on the bed and that she was going to go to talk to her mom. "And if you move an inch, I'll tan your pantied ass, that's what we do to naughty maids in this country."
I sat demurely on the bed as I heard Cynthia stomp down the steps and call out for her mother and sister, who had gone on the shopping trip and, to my horror had also apparently come home with them. Cali and Tonya were nowhere to be seen, which did not surprise me. But maybe they'd get in more trouble than I would. Wait, maybe they would. That thought occupied my mind as I waited forever. This was the maids' fault. They'd be whipped for insolence, for disobeying a master, for making him look like a fool. There were punishments for maids who acted in such ways. These fantasies helped me relax for a bit but Cynthia snapped me out of them when she barreled back into the room, yanked me by the ear and marched me, wordless, down the steps, ignoring my pleas and cries of pain.
We made our way through the living room and into the dining room, where Debra sat, as always, at the head of the long table, where she routinely wined and dined South Africa's richest and its politicians. Cynthia took me until I stood a foot in front of her mother and only then did she release me. Before stepping away, she turned my face toward her and delivered a harsh slap. With tears forming, I turned toward my mother-in-law and took in her imposing figure. Fifty-eight years old, she remained a beautiful woman - her daughters got their looks from their mom, no doubt. She had her hair up in a bun and sat in her slacks, a smirk cemented on her smooth, wrinkle-free face. Melanie sat at a side table and burst out laughing when she saw her brother-in-law, properly skirted, come into the room.
"Debra, Debra, please, I can explain, please--" but she quieted me down by raising her right hand and whispering, "Hush now. Hush." She picked up the bell on the table and rang it three times. About 30 seconds later my main tormentor - Cali - and her junior maid Tonya appeared in the room, looking eager to help.
"Yes, ma'am?" Cali said as she curtseyed.
"This is your work?"
"Yes, ma'am?" she said. Ha! She admitted it. Now she'd get it. I'm sure she'd be fired, but maybe Debra would first discipline her or let me handle the discipline. I'd put that bitch over my knee and...
"My compliments," Debra said. Cali curtseyed her appreciation again and smiled, her white teeth glowing.
"Peter, Cynthia tells me you offered to help and that led to this...situation we have in front of us." I agreed and she continued. "You must understand. Maids in this country follow orders. They're trained for it and they're good at it. They respect that power and authority. What they don't respect, and what they have no time for, and what they will take advantage of, is weakness. Asking the maid to help with the laundry? I've heard of Ugly Americans but you truly are a Stupid American, aren't you?"
"Why don't you say yes, mommy, from now on," Debra said. "Say it."
"Now, Peter, lift your skirt please." I obeyed and Debra took in the sight of my panties, wet in the front from my disgraceful discharge. "Whose panties are these?"
"Cynthia's," I admitted.
"Well, that just won't do. We're going to have to get you your own pretty panties. And definitely bras. And, Cali, as charming as our little girl looks in his wife's clothes, do you think you might be able to fetch a proper uniform?"
"Yes, ma'am," she replied with a curtsey. "Certainly." Tonya again snickered, as this conversation went further and further out of control.
"Now," Debra said. "What should we call our pretty new maid? Peter just doesn't fit, does it? Does it?"
"No. How about...Julie. No. Pamela? I like that. Priscilla? Priscilla! That's it. Our little Priscilla. How does that sound?"
It sounded like a nightmare. It sounded like another nail in a sissy coffin.
"It sounds good, mommy."
Debra clapped her hands and Melanie and Cynthia followed suit. Even the maids clapped. I had been christened. "Now Priscilla. Mommy appreciates how agreeable you are while standing here but we do have to deal with your...issues." When I looked blankly at her, she continued, "First, you have been a terrible son-in-law, an embarrassment really. Three years without a job? Unable to perform in bed?" I shot a glance at Cynthia, who stared daggers at me. I knew she had been close to her mother but did she tell her about our marital woes? Those should be between man and woman. "And refusing to clean for four years? That's obviously going to change - forever. But we need to deal with your sins, or you'll never know what you did wrong. I believe in dealing strictly with maids. It helps them focus, especially early. Right, Cali and Tonya?"
Both women curtseyed their agreement.
With that Debra grabbed my arm and easily put me over her knees, despite my surprised cries and kicking legs. I bucked like a bronco but a quick, harmless slap over my skirt tamed me. She controlled me by the waist and situated me until she was happy, my face down, staring at the floor, my butt up in the air, waiting for, god, waiting for a spanking? Was I really going to be spanked by my mother-in-law, in front of my wife and her sister and two black maids?
It all got to me - being naked in front of Tonya and Cali in the bedroom, having to find a panty, scrubbing the floor, being masturbated by Cali, Cynthia discovering me, being paraded in front of my in-laws, being given a new girlie name, the fact I was going to be spanked, Debra's talk of my future as a maid. It all was too much and I burst out in tears as I laid sprawled over my mother-in-law - mommy's - lap. I saw the tears fall onto the floor in front of me while Cynthia said, "Jesus, he's a blubbering crybaby sissy." I cried for several minutes, heaving uncontrollably. The whole time Debra rubbed my lower back, occasionally patting me on my rump. One time she tugged on the waistband of my pink panties, pulling them slightly up into my crack as if she was measuring their strength, then, almost tenderly, snaked her finger and removed the wedgie she had created, before getting the panty again perfectly placed on my vulnerable ass.
"Priscilla, what are you crying about?" she asked. I spit out my answers, my fears of being spanked, the embarrassment I felt about being made to clean and being put into panties and a bra, how much it was going to hurt, everything.
"I want you to stop crying. You know why? You're crying about the spanking you'll get because you're scared of the unknown. There's no need to be scared. You have no more say. It's inevitable. You will be spanked. You will be put into your own panties that we will buy at the store. You will be put into a proper uniform by Cali and Tonya and you will become a maid. That's your life now, it's out of your hands. So why cry about something you can't control?" Her logic seemed like madness but I got myself a bit under control. "Now, in a few minutes I will spank you and then you can cry. I want you to in fact. Maybe kick your legs a bit too, like a naughty girl? I won't spank my hardest but it will hurt a bit, it has to or you won't learn at all. So you can cry about the pain in your butt but let's clear these pre-tears up, okay?"
She let me get my composure back and as my breathing finally slowed the spanking began, just after she lifted the skirt. I had never been spanked. My parents were liberal and did not believe in it. The first blow stunned me and it wasn't that painful but I did start kicking immediately, trying to maneuver my butt out of the way. She brought her bare hand down on to my pantied rear. Ten quick ones, followed by three more on each cheek. She seemed to pick up the pace. Then she again grasped the panty waistband and yanked up, harshly this time, bringing it into both cheeks, creating a pink thong and exposing both cheeks - to the audience, and my spanker. Now the tears started again and I heard Cynthia say, "This spanking is nothing compared to what mommy gave to us growing up and what she's given previous maids." Cali spoke up - out of turn? - "That's right, Miss Cynthia. Miss Debra is being nice to her."
With open access to my bare cheeks Debra gave at least 15 and showed no signs of slowing down. As she spanked she again recited my sins - my sloth, my laziness, my failure as a man in bed, my porn addiction, which she said she and Cynthia both knew about, the time I sniffed her panties. Oh yes, they knew, from the video cameras hidden in each room. All my sins, I paid for them on her lap. When she finished, she adjusted my panties again and straightened her legs out, forcing me to roll off in a heap, reaching back and rubbing my, as Cynthia would say, tanned ass.
Debra told Tonya to prepare our meal and told Cali to prepare me.
"By the time we take our tea tonight, I want him looking more like a proper maid, Cali."
Cali easily lifted me up from under my arms and stood me up. Only then did I notice Melanie had recorded the entire episode on her phone and Cynthia was asking her sister to email it to her. I looked to my wife for help but she simply turned and walked into the living room. Tonya went into the kitchen while Cali, with her arm wrapped around my hip, in case I had any thought of fleeing, slowly walked me up to the steps, telling me everything was going to be okay, "Cali's going to help you be a proper girl, Priscilla. You'll see."
Cali took me past our bedroom and down the hall to the maid's quarters. They had a tiny bathroom attached and as I stood there she stripped me, drew me a bubble bath with salts and had me step in.
"You can handwash your messy panties, later Priscilla," she informed me.
She left me in the tub by myself while she went back into the maid's room, which had two single beds for her and Tonya and a large closet, which I heard her rummaging through. I could hear her talking to herself, talking about sizes and what would look good and she'd occasionally chuckle to herself, "Wanted to help out, my goodness."
Eventually she came back in and asked if I'd properly scrubbed. I didn't know, I didn't know anything anymore. She took a pink washcloth and told me to lift up and she roughly scrubbed my hole and memories of her previous dalliance down there came back. I felt my hole opening slightly as she stuck a clothed finger in but she pulled it out and said simply, "Soon enough, sissy." She then told me to pull the skin back on my foreskin to clean the sissy juice from my penis, which had again shrunk to about one inch. She cleaned my ears and shampooed my hair with a feminine product.
Shaving followed, head, groin, legs, underarms, everything, it all washed down, like my pride and my future. When she finally dried me off and walked me back to sit on her single bed, I was mute, stupefied and soon to be pussified and prettified. Cali said I'd have to borrow her panties until we made our shopping trip where I would be "properly outfitted by the salesgirls," and she had me high-step into a pair of satin black panties, which she pulled up tight. The bra followed, then, the final indignity: A real maid's uniform. One of Tonya's, so it was short. Cali assured me I'd have a whole closetful in no time and I'd be responsible for cleaning and maintaining all the uniforms. The black and white prison came down around me and Cali fussed with the fit, poofing the skirt out. It was way too short. She showed me in the mirror and pointed out how a glimpse of black panties were visible and anytime I stooped they would show. She finally got her wish and took care of my hair, getting it out of my eyes and under a proper maid's cap. The shoes - Cali's - came next and I squeezed into them, again receiving assurances that I'd get proper shoes soon. Cali doused me in some of Tonya's perfume and did up my face a bit with some makeup. She stood back and admired the feminized creature in front of her.
"Right now. Now we start our curtsey lessons."
The curtseys. The damn curtseys. For the next hour I learned how to curtsey and when - when being spoken to, when asking to speak, when entering, when exiting, when making a mistake and whenever commanded to by a superior, which was everyone.
"Very good! Very nice. Very pretty. So pretty and learning her way. Might have to take you out to the townships some day and show you off." She laughed when she saw my horrified look. I'd heard stories about the townships. She wouldn't really take a sissy maid there, would she? Then again, who would have thought this black maid could turn me into the pantied beast standing in front of her, waiting to go serve his wife and mother-in-law and sister-in-law? Chuckling, she said, "Aw, did mean Cali scare you? We won't go there if you're a good girl, Priscilla. But you have to listen, right?"
"Yes Miss Cali."
Shortly later, I was walking into the living room, carrying a tray of tea, into the lion's lair, with Debra, her mom and sister waiting, seated comfortably on the couches. Before my entrance, Cali had announced, "Ladies, I present the newest member of the household, Maid Priscilla." My wife and her family - who had been drinking wine - hooted and hollered, and guffawed when they finally saw me, decked out in a real maid's uniform, on real maid's shoes, carrying a real tray. When I set it down, I started backing up when Debra said, "Cali, why did Priscilla not curtsey?" Curtsey! Damn it, how could I forget on my first task. Cali walked over, took the tray from my hands and placed it down and lifted my skirt, bent me over a chair and whacked me 10 times on my panties. "How dare you forget, you stupid girl. My apologies, Miss Debra. He's dumber than he looks. Now, curtsey, girl!"
Crying again, I curtseyed the best I could and the girls all wanted individual ones. And each one wanted to see it from the front and back.
"Lift that skirt higher, Priscilla," my wife commanded at one point. "A maid has no shame about showing her panties to a superior."
I kept returning with snacks for the girls and I'd overhear bawdy conversations as I flitted back and forth. My sister-in-law in particular seemed to revel in trying to make me blush with tales of her well-hung boyfriends. As I did the dishes with Tonya, with Cali supervising, we heard the bell ring and all three of us walked into the room. My mother-in-law held the bell and she told me to step forward. I could tell she was drunk - on wine and power. She had me lift my skirt while she pulled down my panties to my thighs, again exposing my one-inch of shame to everyone. "Wouldn't it be cute," she began, "if Priscilla had a cute little bell attached to his clitty?" The girls giggled and to my horror she began trying to tie the small bell around the base of my penis. Unfortunately there wasn't enough to grip, she couldn't tie it around.
"Good god, girl," she said. "You really were a disgrace as a man." She began manipulating my penis, stroking me while telling me about how pretty I looked and how Cali had done such a good job making me look like a maid and how one day very soon I'd really learn what it meant to be a woman and with that all the girls laughed and I wondered what she meant. But just as I started feeling good and getting a bit hard, she stopped and tied the bell around my penis. Debra instructed me to leave my panties at my thighs for the time being and to go around doing my chores, but now everyone could hear the new maid coming. With a slap on the ass she sent me back to the kitchen.
I performed the rest of my duties that night with the bell signaling my every movement. Curtsies were required nonstop, not just to the ladies but to the maids Cali and Tonya. Tonya in particular insisted on perfectly done curtsies and wasn't afraid to slap my bell'd penis if I failed. By the end of the night of humiliation and work - which had followed my day of humiliation and introduction to the sissy maid world - I was exhausted. I wasn't surprised when Cynthia shut the door in my face as I walked past the bedroom or when Cali guided me to the maid's quarters. She removed my bell and uniform, helped with my shoes and then found me a nightie of Tonya's to sleep in. On the floor. Tonya and Cali both had beds, I had the hard floor. "Only until we find a proper bed for you, Priscilla," she reassured.
I had a pillow and a pink blanket and I fell right asleep and though I don't remember waking up, I remember a fitful sleep. I dreamed of panties and of being over Debra's knee and I remember being so scared in the dream that I just wanted to wake up. But when I woke up the next morning, at 6 a.m., to Cali's call of, "Get up lazy sissy, get up," I knew my nightmare was real. This was now my life.
That was a few months ago. The training continued. The sissy life continued. It continues to this day and it will continue forever.
Cynthia returned to America when we had planned; I did not. My life is now in South Africa, serving as junior maid under Cali. Cynthia sold our place and moved in with Brenda, the head of her firm. Cali told me the news one day while I underwent my weekly milking session, on her lap, legs dangling, thumb in my mouth, her hand on the front of my panties, playing with my clitty.
Cali and Tonya trained me well but hard. Spankings were a daily occurrence and occasionally my new mommy Debra delivered the blows. I did get my own panties and bras, all bought on one humiliating day in Johannesburg, when Debra took me around to all her favorite shops. I had on girl's shorts and a sheer blouse that showed one of Cali's bras through it. She told the sales staff I needed to be properly pantied and the women - both the glaring white owner and her smirking black assistants - delighted in stripping me and pantying me up, in full view of the customers. Debra only had to take me over her knee once in the shop and that was only when I briefly objected to a bikini swimsuit she said she wanted for me. Cali gave most of my weekly milkings, although Debra occasionally participated and Melanie did one night when she had too much to drink and had invited three girlfriends over. Cali put Tonya in charge of other aspects of learning how to be a proper girl. I have a period once a month now and Tonya taught me how to insert a tampon and use maxi-pads for that week. She in particular liked delivering spankings after plugging me with a tampon. She toyed with the string and asked me if I remembered when I was master of the house? Of course I did, now I was a plugged sissy over a young girl's lap and she liked to spank hard.
And one day, about two weeks into my new life, Tonya showed me what it's really like to be a woman. Cali had delivered my milking and pulled my panties back up. I was going to get dressed for my night work when she told me to stay in just the panties. She said Tonya had a surprise for me. I didn't like how that sounded and whimpered. She stood up and took me over to a chair, which she bent me over and then lowered my panties. I stayed like that for several minutes. I figured it would be a spanking. Maybe the surprise would be a paddle or something.
I heard Tonya come in and she said, softly, "You ready to be a real good girl, huh, Priscila? A good girl for your Miss Tonya?"
"Yes, Miss Tonya."
To my shock, I felt gel being moved into my butt, obviously Tonya's hand. I grunted and she told me to hush. She lubed me up and I braced for her hand. Instead I heard straps being buckled while she asked Cali, "Is this how it goes on?" With my eyes still forward, I felt Tonya enter me, slowly, unsure at first. But as it passed through my entrance and filled me up like a woman, I moaned and she cheered. The plunging continued for a long time and continued in the weeks to follow. Debra eventually explained that they wanted Tonya to learn how to be aggressive with men. The diamond company Debra headed was sending her to school and she would then work for the company. She's moved out now. Debra had construction crews build a smaller junior maid's room that I have to myself while Cali remains in the larger quarters.
Tonya occasionally visits and I serve her food and usually retire to my room with her for a special 8-inch treat. Cali comforts me afterward with a milking, although I'm still not used to having to clean it out of my panties with my mouth.
Last night my wife called from America. I was so happy. I lisped to her in the way I was taught and said how much I "mithed" her. She chuckled and said her and Brenda would be visiting soon. Brenda couldn't wait to see me and also help with my training. Cynthia said I'd be going back with them and that from now on I'd spend three weeks in America, in the same way I used to spend three weeks in South Africa. I would spend the time as a maid at Brenda and Cynthia's mansion, under the direction of a Dominican maid named Juanita, who was eager to work with a sissy maid, even if for just a few days. She didn't speak much English but understood perfectly when Cynthia told her I was a poof. I cried on the phone, maybe from the words, or perhaps from the tiny plug Cali had inserted on my chair, which I sat on as required.
I absentmindedly played with my hair, which had been grown out and is styled weekly at Debra's salon. Oh how all the girls there are so cruel, especially the day Mommy brought me in diapers because I had been a crybaby the night before. I focused again on Cynthia's words.
"...and we're going to have so much fun. We're going to visit your parents and sister and your 20th high school reunion is one weekend. We already sent in your RSVP. We'll drop you off and let you go inside the country club by yourself. Won't your classmates love seeing their old high school quarterback star! I bet you'll be the prettiest in your dress and pretty panties and jewelry. I hope they don't make you clean the place after the party."
I started crying again, softly. This was my life now. This would be my life.
Don't you see? I was just too helpful, right?