After reading a good bit of intense D/s erotica this last month, I got to thinking about capturing, dressing and training my very own full-blown sissy maid. I wanted something that would transcend the traditionally restrictive schedule of a timed appointment, as without such parameters, uncertainty and desperation begin to set in. No agreed “end time” means there’d be no relief,  no light at the end of the tunnel for my pet to rely on as the scene unfolded in its complexity. I wanted to truly blur the line between reality and play.

The other day I decided to use a regular client of mine to act out this personal fantasy. Of course, he was quite happy to volunteer. This was to be an ongoing experiment and required a good bit of dedication on his part, who wouldn’t want to offer themselves up for that? What I’ve captured for you below is simply Volume 1.

My victim…er…volunteer…arrived at my doorstep at 2pm sharp.

Newly purchased from a local slave auction, he was to be the trained maid of my estate. Though admittedly, I had wanted a female and seeing none available for auction, I settled instead on this slightly androgynous boy with the potential for transition. Something about him appeared very trainable, vulnerable and very “take-able”.

My first action was an obvious one,  his clothing needed to be destroyed. Quite simply,  had no further need for tailored men’s pants or dress shirts, sissies wear very select items, none of which give even a hint of masculinity. I cut each piece from his body layer by layer. He stood shaking ever so slightly; I doubt if he’d ever felt so naked in his life! Every inch of him blushed as he became more and more exposed. This being a rather real scenario – I did not bother to discuss destroying his clothing ahead of time. I’m sure he was now beginning to wonder what, if anything, I’d allow him to wear home when he’d finally be released!

Once fully disrobed, I ushered him to the shower and sprayed him down, forcing him to wash clean with some lovely floral soap and a towel dry with pink fluffy linens. I watched him like a hawk nearly towering over him; my stilettos giving me about 4 inches of Amazonian height over his smallish stature. He made several passing glances towards the front door, just a mere 3 feet from the bathroom, probably weighing his escape options. First though, he’d somehow need to get past me….then to his car….all without clothing.

The dressings I selected for my maid, were clearly chosen with feminity and grace in mind. This sloppy boy would have to conform and be moulded. On went the first and most important item, an embellished silver slave collar, locking with a key that I wore around my own neck.  In all its flash, this item would soon be lost in the sea of satin, bows and filly lace soon to come.

The maids uniform was very curvaceous in form, fitted in the middle with a wide satin box that flowed into a big lacy skirt complete with petticoat and a pressed white lace apron. Gorgeous though it was, it was incomplete. My slave clumsily negotiated his way into the dress, grunting and pulling it around him into place. It fit, but just barely. The bust was generous and easily stuffed to fill him out with nearly natural looking breasts. The waist however, was made for a delicate hourglass, if he couldn’t make do as is, I’d have to put have to fit him with a corset to tightly force his figure to fit my ideal image.

Next, the accessories! White thigh high stockings, locking leather wrist and ankle cuffs, an inflatable butt plug, and of course, tall stilettos that locked (with a key) around the wearers ankles.All of this was chosen to make him very aware of his step, the slightest movement would create meaning and sensation. If nothing else, it would teach him to be more deliberate and lady like as each item bared down its individual restriction.

I stood back for a moment and admired my work… THIS is more of what I had in mind…

Only one more item was needed; my beloved chastity device (Key #23).

It seems that I’ve become so accustom to locking up men’s genitals that I could probably do it in my sleep. It took me all of about a minute to put it on, which apparently, was much quicker than it took for him to realize what exactly was happening. When he looked down at the final product – the strict plastic sheath covering his manhood and the cold steel lock holding it all in place, I half expected him to hit the floor.

“Oh Mistress”….he mumbled, shaking his head.

“You’re not here to talk, you’re here to serve”, I chided, pushing him forward into my medical room. “We’ll begin training here!”
To be continued…..