A Curtsy Too Far

CHAPTER THREE

Today - Sunday, 4:15 PM

They were sitting at the table when Mark entered the dining room. In his hands, he carried two plates of food. One for his wife and one for her guest. Tricia was in her normal seat, at the head of the table and he...

...there he is... in the chair right next to her...

..my chair...

Mark's legs were trembling with fear. It took every last ounce of courage just to enter the room. He was uncertain he was going to make the long walk to the table without collapsing into a pool of whimpering fear. His feet screamed in the painful heels that pushed him precariously forward and up. There was only one way to walk successfully in them. It was the walk that made him ooze sex. His hips had to sway. His chest had to jut out. His steps had to be short and controlled.

...a wet-dream walking...

If he did not walk that way, there was no way he would make it to the table in the stilts that were torturing his feet. If he did walk that way...

...oh, God...they're watching me...

They were both looking at him quizzically, as he stood frozen in the doorway.

...oh, God...

He could not seem to move.

I can't do this. Not this. It's too much!

"Is there some problem, Lacy?"

Tricia's voice was cold and amused at the same time.

She's amused. She's enjoying this.

She was enjoying the situation she had put him in.

The anger that formed at that thought made him take that first step forward. One step forced another, and he found himself clicking towards the table, his ass like a well-timed pendulum.

Then in a flash, the anger was gone, replaced with overwhelming fear. He was standing beside Tricia with two plates of food and a burning desire to flee from the room as fast as his high-heeled boots could take him.

He did not dare flee.

Instead he placed one plate in front of his beautifully, evil wife and another in front of the annoyingly handsome stranger that she was entertaining.

He dared not look at them.

He found himself focused on the plates. He had carefully arranged both plates of noodles and zucchini. They seemed the only normal thing in the room.

"This looks wonderful, Lacy. Why don't you make yourself a plate and go enjoy it out on the patio?"

There was that 'suggestion' again.

His heart thundered.

"No... no thank you, ma'am... I mean... Miss Sellers. Miss Sellers."

Ma'am! Oh, God... why did I say Ma'am...

She held all the cards in the world and he had just used a word that had caused her to beat him only half an hour ago.

"I mean... I'm not very hungry right now, Miss Sellers."

"No carbs with that tiny waist of yours, eh?" Mr. Goodwin laughed.

Mark squealed with surprise as there was another pat to his ass. It caused him to step forward and for a moment his exposed equipment rested on the cold dining room table-top.

Oh, God, he did it again!

A stranger grabbed my ass!

Again!

At least this time it was over the petticoats...

...thankfully...

He could still feel the place where that hand had been earlier. The feel of a stranger's hot touch on his bare skin burned his ass like a brand.

Tears were filling his eyes again, the helplessness overwhelming him.

His small, very flaccid penis was resting on the dining table-top, still hidden by the petticoats...

...but just barely...

He tried desperately to blink the tears away.

"Nonsense," Tricia said, the smirk on her lips more amused than not.

"Take a plate out to the patio and get off your feet for a few minutes. We'll call you if we need anything else. Are you good, Charles?"

"I had asked her for another glass of wine."

Mark's heart stopped in his chest.

"Lacy! If our guest asks for something, you get it immediately. Anything he wants! Do you understand?"

Anything? Oh, God!

She was speaking to him as if we was a small child; a small, very stupid, child.

"Yes, Ma'am."

He backed away from the table wincing at the little drizzle of liquid his equipment left on the table top. He felt trapped between the two of them and the table itself. It was claustrophobic and exposing all at the same time.

"Ma'am?"

Her glare was cold and fierce.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Miss Sellers. I'm sorry! I'll go get the bottle right now."

"Yes you will. And when you get back you will apologize for making us wait on you...instead of the other way around."

"Yes, Miss Sellers."

He started to click away, as fast as his heels would let him.

"Lacy."

Oh, God, what now?

"Are you forgetting something?"

What? What did I forget?

The panic on his face must have told her that he had no idea.

"I believe you're supposed to curtsy as you leave."

No no no no no. Again? Why is she doing this?

He quickly spun around and bobbed. His knees bent. His hands pulled his petticoats up. His head went down. It was a perfect curtsy.

It was only after he spun around to flee from the room that he realized what he had just done.

His heart stopped.

In his frightened hurry...

...he had raised his petticoats!

Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God...

He flew terrified into the kitchen.

Beneath the layers and layers of petticoats, his embarrassed cock shriveled to exceptional smallness, his testicles reduced into little pebbles of fear. Tears were beginning to flow free now and no amount of blinking seemed to keep them away.

I'm even crying like a girl! What the hell is wrong with me?

How many more mistakes could he make in a single day?

He grabbed the wine bottle from the fridge and nearly dropped it with fingers made of butter. His heart pounded as he barely managed to keep hold of the cold, green glass.

...he likes my ass...

The thought pushed through his fear and horror. It was not an unpleasant thought, at least, not to the part of his brain that was awakening. The Bimbo-Slut was surfacing. Mark pushed her back down.

He won't like it anymore. Now that he knows what I really am.

Oh, GOD!

Realization hit home.

There was no way that both he and Miss Sellers had not seen every last inch of his little, shriveled cock during that curtsy. He knew with a clear certainty they had seen everything.

...even the little heart shape patch of hair trimmed around it...

His face, already bright red, threatened to burn right off.

He could not breathe. The corset and the heart pumping adrenaline were causing him to hyperventilate.

He DID need to get off his feet, but the patio...

Oh, God... the patio!

He had almost forgotten about that in his panic of exposure.

Does she really expect me to go out there?

It was on the side of the house. There was no fence and no privacy. He would be on display to the whole neighborhood.

I won't do it.

There was nothing she could say or do that could possibly make him go out there.

Nothing.

Now that Mr. Goodwin had seen what he really was, what was hidden beneath his petticoats, there was no need to even continue this stupid charade.

He was almost back to the dining room when the thought struck him.

Why am I even going back in there?

Mr. Goodwin knew he was not a real maid.

What could Tricia do to him?

This has gone far enough.

He stomped his foot with certainty, annoyed at how girlishly petulant the action made him feel in the outfit.

I'm done. This little game has gone on long enough.

Standing at the door, the wine bottle still in his hand, he pressed up to the door to see if he could hear what they were talking about. The voices were muffled, almost incomprehensible.

"She ... ... quite sexy."

"... ... ... better. I told you, ... ... ... And after the first time, ... ... ... easier."

"... ... ..."

"Well not exactly... but she won't ... ... ... ... and she'll ... ... ... ..."

"That's ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... hell of an ass."

They were talking about him...

About me!

The Bimbo surfaced, bursting into his mind and forcing Mark away. She wanted so desperately to hear what the man was saying about her. The door muffled the sound just enough to make context unclear. She held her breath trying so hard to hear.

My ass! He was talking about my ass!

Mark pushed the Bimbo back, yet still kept an ear to the door.

My ass! Oh, god.

The man did not seem to care that Mark was a guy.

There was NO WAY he was going in that room again. His whole body was shuddering in abject terror. He backed away from the door, staggering in the spindly heels. His arms wind-milled trying to catch his balance.

As if in slow motion, the wine bottle, wet and slick from the refrigerator, slid from his grip. He watched it lazily spin through the air and down to the ground. It shattered into a thousand pieces, the remaining liquid inside spraying up onto his boots and across the hall. Mark watched it in horror, his mind retreating.

This can not be happening.

...no no no no no no no...

Look what you've done. We're going to be in so much trouble.

As Mark hid, the Bimbo found herself suddenly in the fore-front, feeling very, very stupid and very, very scared.

"Lacy?"

Time returned. It was going faster now as if to make up for the slow motion sequence only moments before.

Lacy heard them coming from the other side of the door.

She ran.

It was a literal mad dash for the stairs, looking frantically for any hiding place where she would not be seen.

Her boots, slick with the wine, only let her get two steps before she went flying, head over five-inch heels.

She landed on all fours, uninjured save for any remaining dignity she might have had.

She was on her knees, her hands having saved her from bashing her face against the floor.

"Lacy, are you ok?"

His voice. Behind her.

Lacy was on all fours, facing away from him, her petticoats fluffed up onto her back. Her whole ass was exposed to him. Her ass and her dangling equipment were on perfect display as if she were some sort of fetish porn model.

She tried to struggle to her feet, but the corset made it awkward. She plopped down to her backside, her bare ass against the cold, wooden floor.

She was crying full-out now. Heaving sobs caused her small, pushed-up bosom to swell up and down.

"Here, let me help you up."

He was lifting her, his hands around her waist. As if she weighed nothing, he had her on her feet. She staggered, as he plopped her up onto her heels. She nearly collapsed again. He caught her, his hands rock solid on her waist and arm.

"There you go. Did you hurt yourself? Where does it hurt?"

She was sobbing too hard to answer. Him treating her like this only made it worse. She wanted out of this stupid outfit. She wanted out of this whole situation. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

"Let her go, Charles."

Tricia's voice was still cold, but not completely unsympathetic.

Mr. Goodwin gave her arm and waist a squeeze and then carefully released her. She felt so small and helpless as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Lacy, come with me."

Without even a glance, Tricia spun and strode to the kitchen.

Mr. Goodwin watched her go and then turned to look at Lacy.

"Watch your step, babe." His tone was light, but his eyes...

...his eyes are drinking me in like a thirsty man in the desert.

Mark saw three options.

He could flee and face the consequences.

He could stay and be ogled by Mr. Goodwin.

...or...

He could follow and plead with his lovely wife to stop this madness.

There was really only one that made any sense.

Eleven Months Ago - Thursday, 7:29 PM

Wearing the lingerie to work was not his idea of a good time.

"I can't focus on anything while I'm wearing it, Tricia. It's distracting."

She smiled, running her hands up under his untucked shirt to cup his chest. The bodysuit he was wearing under his work clothes forced his chest muscles up into tiny breasts.

"Women wear lingerie all the time and they seem to manage."

Lacy's inner Bimbo-Slut was activating herself, squirming under her caress.

"Women don't have to worry about getting caught wearing these... things."

She tweaked his nipples through the material and he squirmed.

"Who cares if you get caught? What are they going to say?"

She would always say things like that. She did not seem to understand the stigmata against guys being effeminate. Everyone would think he was gay. They would think that he was less of a man

He would never live it down.

Worst of all, it would destroy any hope he had of ever getting a promotion. His superiors at work were the worst kind of brutish, 'manly' guys. Trips to sports games, bars and strip clubs were the norm at his office. More actual business was done there than at work. If you were not a manly guy, interested in manly things, you were not going to do well.

"They'll care. And I can't keep wearing this stuff to work, Tricia. Seriously. I'll lose my job."

"Would that be so terrible?"

He pulled away from her so he could look at her face.

Is she serious?

"I'm just saying, sweetie... you aren't happy at that job. I make enough for us to get by. Would losing a sucky job be a bad thing?"

The thought un-manned him.

Her as the only bread-winner?

He would be a failure if that ever happened.

"Besides, " she smiled, "You could do the domestic work... and I'm sure we could find you a uniform you'd LOVE."

His cock, already at half mast, sprung instantly erect. Every French maid fantasy he ever had, instantly flooded his mind. Just to wear a maid uniform would be sexual heaven.

"We can talk about that later," she laughed.

Mark wondered if she knew how horny she just made him.

Does she know how aroused just the thought gets me?

"Tonight, you promised me something."

Ugh.

He had wanted to cum so badly the previous evening. He would have promised the moon. What he did promise was far more mortifying.

"Come on... strip down and lets get that hair off of you."

They showered together, but she did little cleaning of herself. Her attention was entirely on him as she carefully shaved his whole body. He had eagerly agreed to that part of the request.

It was the addendum that made him both aroused and mortified. He held his breath as she worked with the razor around his groin. As she finished he looked down. It was hard to make out from the angle, but there was no mistaking what she had done. His pubic hair had been neatly trimmed into a tiny heart.

Exactly what I promised her.

Tricia never forgot a promise.