Henry dons a French maid’s outfit at the behest of Mistress Miranda and caters to her every whim — and those of her domme friends.

The very best thing about being married to Miranda is that I never know what to expect when I get home from work. Sometimes I find a loving wife and a hot meal waiting on the table for me, but other times I find a corset-clad dominatrix who wants to punish me. I get so nervous and excited when I open the door because I never know which Miranda I’m going to meet: the devoted housewife who always has food on the table or the bitch queen of my darkest fantasies.

Sometimes Miranda likes to keep me guessing, like when I got back from work on Friday night. She was curled up on the couch in a yellow robe, idly flicking through a magazine. She glanced at me, but didn’t hurry over for a kiss like she does when she’s feeling more playful. Her manner was slightly standoffish, but there wasn’t any venom. I told her I was starving, hoping she’d cooked me something filling. I’d had a tough day, filled with back-to-back business meetings, and I could have eaten a horse!

“You won’t be eating till later,” said Miranda, her eyes still upon her magazine. She didn’t say it with any real aggression, but I still felt a shiver shoot up and down my spine because her tone of voice was so crisp and decisive. Uncertain of how to respond, but eager to get in her good graces, I strolled over to give her a kiss. I aimed for her lips, but she turned her head, offering me her cheek instead. There was definitely something in the air that night. Either Miranda was feeling blue, or my mistress was coming out to play!

Growing anxious, I sat down and started explaining how my day had been. I always spare Miranda the boring details of my workday, but I like her to have a general idea of what went on. The success or failure of what I do has a huge effect on my state of mind, so she needs to know what’s happened, in case I ever seem distant, angry or hyper. Normally, she takes quite an interest in the subject. She seems proud that her husband is such a successful businessman — even at my young age, which puts me more than a decade her junior — but on this occasion she made me shush. I’d undone my laces and kicked off my shoes, and Miranda did not approve.

“Put those away immediately,” she shouted, pointing toward my shoes. Her nails were freshly manicured, and unnervingly so — each one was as pointed as a dagger. I shivered in anticipation as Miranda used another long, red nail to direct me upstairs.

Grabbing my shoes, I headed up to the bedroom. As I reached the landing, I heard Miranda shout, “And while you’re up there, fetch my heels!”

Miranda was playing a cat-and-mouse game. She’d been toying with me ever since I’d walked through the door, giving subtle hints of what was to come, but never making it totally clear. She hadn’t cooked any food. She didn’t want to hear about my work. She’d made me put away my shoes and fetch her heels. But she hadn’t called me “slave” yet, which was often the first word I heard upon getting home when she was in the mood for a mistress/slave scene. She was keeping me guessing, right up until the moment when I opened up her wardrobe.

Kneeling down to get Miranda’s heels, I spotted a small package labeled: “slave.” Presumably, I was meant to open it, but suddenly my hands were shaking too much from my excitement; such was my state of mind due to my impending scene with my mistress.

“Hurry,” Miranda yelled from downstairs, her impatient tone of voice enough to spur me into action. With shaking hands, I opened the wrapping and uncovered what was my very worst nightmare and my fondest wish: a French maid’s outfit. Miranda wanted to sissify me! The very thought shocked my senses — and stiffened my cock.

Holding the package and Miranda’s heels, I returned downstairs to find her pacing back and forth. She seemed annoyed with me for taking so long to return to her. Her normally soft, blue eyes were steely and cold, while her luscious lips had formed into an icy sneer. Under the circumstances, it was dumb of me to question her. But I couldn’t believe she was asking me to wear a frilly, girlie pinafore! Her annoyance became palpable when I told her how I felt. She grabbed hold of my shirt lapels, then tugged so hard that the buttons flew off.

“You’ll wear the pinafore,” Miranda barked, simultaneously slipping out of her robe. She was playing her trump card because all along, beneath the robe, she’d been wearing a breathtaking PVC corset, thigh-high stockings and nothing else. Instinctively, on seeing this vision of supreme womanhood, I dropped to my knees and helped my mistress into her stilettos. Elevated by her don’t-fuck-with-me heels, her formidable figure became even more daunting, casting a shadow over my kneeling form.

The vision of her and her imperious attitude made my cock breathtakingly hard.

She looked down at me, and I felt a shiver of delicious fear reverberate throughout my entire body.

“Now be a good girl, and go change,” said Miranda, “or else you can’t come to the party.”

“Party? What party?” I asked, examining my disheveled shirt. I took it off, but I still had no intention of dressing like a girl.

“I’m having a night in with friends,” explained Miranda, “and it’s strictly girls-only.” She spoke softly and clearly, her manner quite friendly until she gripped my hair and bellowed, “Strip!”

She was completely unable — and unwilling — to hide her dissatisfaction with the petulant slave who had dared to answer back. Stunned by her outburst, I hurriedly stripped naked, even though the thought of dressing up was making me more nervous by the second. It was embarrassing enough being sissified in front of my mistress, but her girlfriends would be seeing me, too. Yet, my cock began to swell as I imagined the possibilities. I was frightened and aroused, thrilled that she knew how to push my buttons in the perfect way.

Miranda didn’t share any of my concerns, that was clear. She was already handing me clothes to wear, in addition to my frilly outfit. First, she dressed me in a pair of her too tight, dirty panties, then she fastened a garter belt around my waist and prettified my legs with fishnet stockings. It was such a humbling experience… thank goodness my friends couldn’t see me, but I knew Miranda wasn’t through with me yet.

Then, having lifted me to my feet and ordered me into a pair of high heels, Miranda slathered my face with makeup. She took her time dusting color on my eye lids and glossing my lips. Next, she lowered the frilly pinafore dress down over my head before topping things off with a lacy headdress suitable for a servant.

“Such a pretty maid,” Miranda cooed, circling my feminized body. She lifted my skirt and slapped the back of my panties, before pulling them tighter to give me a wedgie. The silky fabric dug into my butt and balls, causing deliciously painful spasms to shoot through my crotch. She seemed to be getting a massive kick from reducing her hard-working husband to the status of a slave — and so was I.

“You can’t let anyone see me like this,” I begged. Deep down, I knew I was powerless and that Miranda would do whatever she wanted, even make me play the maid for her friends. Though secretly, I’ll admit the idea excited me.

“It’s too late to back out now,” she insisted, as right on cue, the doorbell rang. I bowed my head and went to welcome my mistress’s guests. Two glam vamps were waiting on the doorstep, so I ushered them in and took their raincoats. Underneath their jackets, they wore matching rubber mini-dresses, with peepholes cut out to expose their nipples. Their sky-high stilettos made them seem like giantesses. Both older women towered over me, which only made me more nervous and turned on.

“Eating Miranda has always been my favorite act of devotion.”

“Darling Claire! Darling Tammy!” Miranda shouted, as I led the guests into the living room. After taking turns to air-kiss my mistress’s cheeks, they sat on either side of her on the couch. With the greetings complete, Miranda snapped her fingers, wanting my attention. She asked for wine, so I fetched a bottle and three glasses, but Miranda wasn’t happy with the choice I’d made. She joked to her friends about how hard it is to find decent help these days, then demanded a bottle of our most exquisite vintage.

I’ve always been a lover of fine wines and what she requested was the star of my collection. I bought it a decade ago during a European vacation, and I’ve been waiting for the bottle to mature ever since. It cost me 900 bucks, but I reckoned it was worth it — although it looked as though I wouldn’t get a chance to find out. At first, I thought Miranda was kidding, but she said she wanted only the best for her guests. Her hands were stroking Claire and Tammy’s soft, slim thighs. The two women were gazing expectantly at me, keen to see how far Miranda could push her slave.

“Certainly, Mistress,” I humbly complied, aware that a point of honor was at stake. I simply couldn’t let her down in front of two fellow dominatrices. So I fetched and uncorked the bottle, emptying every last drop into the ladies’ glasses. I longed for a taste, just a tiny mouthful, but slaves never taste the finest wines.

“Delicious,” Miranda teased me, as she took a sip of the ruby fluid. Claire and Tammy agreed, drinking deep from their glasses, seemingly aware that the bottle had been special to me. I sensed right away that they were in on the game, and my feelings were confirmed when Claire asked Miranda if there was anything else her slave could bring them. Miranda didn’t hesitate, calling for my best cigars. She explained how they’d been a special birthday present for her husband, even going so far as to mention how he had only three left.

“Fetch them, sissy,” Miranda commanded, pointing to my desk across the room. There was no point in arguing, so I tottered over in my heels, then searched for the box, which was stashed away beneath the desk. As I bent over, the back of my uniform rode up, giving all three women a flash of my stocking tops and the panties which were wedged between my buns. They grinned at me as I walked back toward them. I, then, handed each lady a fat cigar and struck a match to light them.

“Thank you, maid,” Miranda said, once all three cigars were smoking. She took a draw that made the tip glow orange, then blew a plume of smoke in my direction. If only my coworkers knew what I had to do to wind down from a tough day’s work. I’m not the cool, composed executive they think I am — just a sissy maid, who loves to serve her mistress.

“Go get a dustpan and brush,” said Miranda, allotting me my latest duty. She held out her cigar, then tapped a pointed fingernail beside the smoldering tip, causing specks of ash to fall to the floor. I scurried into the kitchen, fetching the tools of the French maid’s trade, then rushed back to my mistress and knelt before her. Working diligently, I brushed up the ash that the smoking babes flicked everywhere. And how I envied Claire and Tammy for enjoying the things that were rightfully mine: my vintage wine, my finest cigars and, next, my beloved mistress!

As the red wine loosened the women’s inhibitions, the atmosphere in the room became increasingly sexual. Claire and Tammy hadn’t just come to take part in my scene; they’d also come to satisfy their lesbian desires. Down on my knees and cleaning up cigar ash, I watched the three dommes launch into an all-girl embrace. Their mouths came together as one, with three pink tongues very much to the fore. Hands were everywhere, most noticeably Miranda’s, which had found their way to the peepholes in Claire and Tammy’s dresses. She tugged upon her friends’ exposed nipples, teasing them with her nails. Kittenish squeals of pleasure started filling the air, as did the scent of hot, wet cunts.

I wasn’t alone in noticing the feminine fragrance. Tammy had picked up on it, too. She broke free from the three-way kiss and dropped to her knees in front of Miranda, waiting for my wife to part her thighs before placing her mouth on Miranda’s slit. Eating Miranda has always been my favorite act of devotion, so I was taken aback at the first sight of someone else drinking deep from my mistress’s well.

Aroused by the lips upon her clit and cunt, Miranda moaned with contentment. I looked into her face and saw her cheeks flushing red — a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. She was still kissing Claire, but that stopped seconds later, when she leaned toward a peephole and took a swollen nipple between her lips. Claire immediately spread her legs, revealing that she had no panties on. Miranda slid a hand along Claire’s thigh, then slipped a finger into her pussy.

Unnecessary now, I simply stared at my Mistress, my part in the proceedings apparently through. Tammy was pleasuring Miranda, who in turn was pleasuring Claire. I noticed, too, that Tammy was pleasuring herself, which left me with absolutely nothing to do. With their hot lesbian licks and kisses, and with their fingers used to poke and penetrate, these three beautiful women had proved that they could do without men at all — they didn’t need me to pleasure them, just serve them.

Watching the women making love had caused my dick to stiffen beyond all measure. But I was wearing women’s panties and my cock ached.

As the pressure became too much, I lifted up my frilly skirt and yanked my panties halfway down. My cock sprang upright, and I formed a snug fist around it. While jerking my manhood, I stared between Miranda’s thighs, watching Tammy’s tongue flick against her clit, then burrow inside her juicy hole.

“Tammy was pleasuring Miranda, who in turn was pleasuring Claire.”

“You little slut!” Miranda shouted, seeing me with my panties down. She gave me a fierce look, then demanded that I turn away and stand with my hands behind my back. It was the ultimate punishment because my cock was crying out for attention, but Mistress was forbidding me to touch myself. Worse, I could hear every shriek of happiness bursting from the women’s lips. I ached to watch because the shouts had reached a near-orgasmic intensity, but like a naughty child sent to the corner of the room, I didn’t peek for fear of further punishment.

Admittedly, my will nearly broke when just seconds later Miranda howled. I’ve heard her coming hundreds of times, so I knew she’d made it to paradise, such was the intensity of her yell. I was disappointed as I pictured her gorgeous features contorting with pleasure, and I muttered complaints because I couldn’t see it happening for real. There’s no greater satisfaction for a slave than to see his mistress fully satisfied. To be denied that pleasure is truly unbearable, and yet my unforgiving mistress simply ordered me to stop my fussing and be quiet.

Luckily, the sounds of my frustration were soon drowned out by the noisy climaxes of Tammy and Claire. I could only guess what caused them. Presumably Miranda was still fingering Claire’s pussy and kissing her breasts, while Tammy continued to pleasure herself and enjoy the taste of my mistress’s cunt. But whatever it was those women were doing, it certainly delivered results. Tammy and Claire’s gentle shouts of pleasure quickly turned into high-pitched howls of orgasmic delight, but it was the overpowering aroma of cunt juice that really hit me. Three pink slits were flooding with cream, setting my nostrils aquiver and my mind aflame.

Unable to resist it any longer, I turned around and grabbed my cock. It was not a wise move. Miranda jumped up off the couch and slapped my hand away from my erection. She called to Tammy, then the pair of them each seized one of my arms, bringing them back behind my body, like two female cops arresting a dangerous suspect. Once my body was immobilized, Miranda used her free hand to spank my bare ass, each blow hard enough to make me feel it.

“You must not touch yourself,” Miranda yelled, delivering another blow to my rump. Her two friends giggled, loving the way I was squirming. Claire even stood up and made a suggestion: that I be ordered to ejaculate all over the floor and then clean the spillage up!

Miranda loved Claire’s suggestion, telling her she could find a pair of rubber gloves in the kitchen. Miranda and Tammy held me tight, while Claire went to fetch the pink dishwashing gloves. When Claire came back, she made a big show of sheathing her hand with the glove, letting the snug-fitting rubber slap noisily around her wrist, then drawing it right up to her elbow.

Fully gloved up and at arm’s length, Claire took hold of my rigid prick. She squeezed my crown lightly between her thumb and forefinger, then started to rub my swollen glans. She didn’t even look at me, preferring to kiss my mistress, instead. Meanwhile, Miranda kept spanking my buns as she and Tammy continued to hold my arms.

“Watching the women making love had caused my dick to stiffen.”

It was a strange situation, because I was the center of attention, but there was no sensuality in Claire’s disinterested jerk-off, the rubber gloves removing any element of human contact. I closed my eyes and felt a tingle in my cockhead as I reveled in my subservient position. I barely felt Claire’s fingers stroking my erection, but it was the delicious aloofness of her touch that caused the sudden wild throbbing in my shaft. A massive jet of semen rocketed out of my come-slit, splattering onto the floor and making its mark. At once, Miranda called me a bad girl, spanking my bottom firmly, which led to another sticky eruption. This second jet of come burst out of me as if it had been propelled from the heart of my being.

“Someone’s got some cleaning up to do,” Miranda said, releasing her hold on my body. Tammy did likewise, then the three women picked up their wineglasses and headed upstairs to the master bedroom, leaving me to complete my domestic duties. It was pleasing work, making everything look nice for my dear mistress again, ready for whenever she returned downstairs.

Always glad to serve Mistress Miranda, I took real pride in restoring to its former pristine cleanliness the home in which my gorgeous wife could make love to her lesbian girlfriends. It was my special way of making her happy and, therefore, making me happy, too — for my mistress’s joy is my own. Ask any slave — and he’ll agree!

Check out the Full Gallery