Monday Sneak Peek: Maid Duty (Patreon)

Increasingly, there's a lot of material to choose from for a sneak peek, but this one might be fun. It matches up well with Thursday's artwor by Fraylim, which I'll leave open for all members since the two go together so well.

This scene follows the threesome with Caleb. David spent the night at Jonas's, but is called back by Julia to her apartment. She has a little work lined up for him....

Enjoy! And of course, please feel free to leave comments, give feedback, and so on.

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             “I can’t get into this thing on my own,” I said, holding up the corset, the words as surprising to me as much as they were to her. I had an opportunity to leave—and didn’t. That meant something, though I didn’t know what. “Think you could help with the laces?”

            Fifteen minutes later I stood before her, unsteady in what surely had to be the highest heels I’d ever worn, resplendent in a ridiculously gorgeous and revealing French maid’s uniform. I say uniform instead of costume, because there was nothing of Halloween crassness or cheapness to it. It was lewd, and it was tight, and I jiggled up top and flashed petticoats and bum below—but it was a quality bit of bespoke fashion, cut perfectly to fit my tightly corseted frame. It felt somehow both intensely sexual and strangely functional—gleaming satin and delicate lace, bows and stockings and a little apron and cap—fashioned to last for longer than a single costume party. It must of cost Julia a fortune, especially factoring in the undergarments, shoes and accessories. Fitted corsets don't come cheap, nor quality fetishistic 15cm stilettos.

            “How do I look?” I seemed to ask that a lot these days. The corset was as tight a thing as I’d ever worn, a match for Clinic bridal bondage wear—a beautiful piece of work in midnight black with delicate white brocade, with a shining steel busk beneath its panel and six robust garter straps softened by decorative bows. A hint of the fear—and breathlessness—of that photoshoot insanity nipped at my confidence, that sense of vulnerability and helplessness brought on by being strapped into restrictive clothing from which I couldn’t possibly release myself. These shoes were beautiful, shiny and surprisingly comfortable—but also a lesson in learned helplessness. There was no running in these things, or even walking quickly. I’d be taking tiny, mincing steps, enforcing the caricature of flouncy femininity to which I’d consented.

            Julia stepped back and looked me over. Her eyes shone brightly with pleasure. “Oh my God,” she said, and gave a little clap of glee. “You look—amazing, David.”

            I craned to see my rear beyond the flounce of lacy petticoats and black skirt. “How are my stockings?” I stretched out a leg, checking the seams. They were quality stockings, fully-fashioned silk with a wonderfully deep and decorative welt. They felt a dream against my skin, and I wished I’d shaved and moisturised my legs this morning.

            In a corset this restrictive, though, those stockings were a nightmare to secure, especially to the garter clasps at the rear. I’d needed Julia’s help for this as well as lacing the corset, and to do up the row of tiny buttons at might back that sealed the bodice tight around my frame. Now, I felt the tug at my thigh and the way the back straps went taut across the curve of my bum. “Are they straight?”

            Julia held her fingers to her lips to hide a little laugh. “Yes. They’re straight.”

            I raised one heel off the floor, turning the shoe this way and that. The black leather caught the sun, and the top piece glinted in the light. “I don’t know if I can actually walk in these things.”

            “I can’t even imagine.” She shook her head. “I’m impressed you’re even able to stand.”

            I took a tentative step, and another, and swiveled. They didn’t pinch, but almost immediately I felt the strain on ankle, heel and at ball of the foot. Still, I could manage—if I took it slow.

            “Not bad,” Julia said. “How’s the corset?”

            I held my hands at my reduced waist. Fierce boning and tight fabric held me in tightly—again, a brief tremor of fear—and I smiled weakly. “It’s… tight.” I tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t, and I swear my tits nearly swelled out of the scooped neckline.

            “Good.” Julia stepped closer, her hands over mine at my waist. I stood taller than her in those towering shoes but felt smaller and weak. “I reckon we can take it in another centimeter or two once you’ve gotten used to it.”

            “Ha ha.” I tried to take a deeper breath and failed. “Please. No.”

            Ignoring my protest, she pulled me back towards the guest bedroom and its ensuite bathroom. “Let’s finish you off,” she said, and got to work on my hair, makeup and nails.

            By the time she was done, it was three o’clock and I looked devastatingly sexy. My hair was brushed out and fairly glowed, pinned into an updo beneath a ridiculous little maid’s cap. My makeup was very dark and sultry, heavy on the bronzer and contouring that gave me an almost unnatural glow. Last night’s cheap press-on nails were gone, so back to my natural nails—already long enough on their own to not be entirely sensible, frankly—painted a pale pink. Then a spritz of her favourite perfume, dark and mature with black pepper and patchouli notes, to help keep her in mind as I worked, she said. She applied it my neck and the vastness of my exposed bosom and a little dab to the inside of each thigh.

            “And these,” clipping a pair of dull metal bracelets to each wrist. They were at odds with the very pretty nature of everything else I wore and reminded me of the one I’d worn at the Clinic. She concealed them beneath decorative little cuffs in delicate lace. “And this, of course,” she said, affixing a slender silk choker in black around my neck. “Perfect.”

            “So—now what?” I swept my hand across the expanse of my squeezed and coddled body, from upthrust jiggling tits to tensed calves shadowed in smoky stockings. “I mean it’s fun and all, but not very practical.”

            Julia raised an eyebrow. “You’re a maid.”

            “Yeah, I get that.”

            “So, get to work.”

            I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

            “Not even a little.”

            First, she introduced me to the storage cupboard where her usual cleaner kept everything, the mop and rags, gloves and sprays and everything else. “I expect this place to be spotless,” Julia told me. “And I expect you to play the part.”