A change of clothes

The cold coffee clings to your clothes as you lie at Megan’s feet, your cheek pressed against her shoe, heart pounding. Your body aches from the fall, but the sharp sting of humiliation burns hotter than anything else. You try to push yourself up, but Megan doesn’t move her foot. She nudges your face with her shoe again, reminding you exactly where you belong.

"Look at you," she mutters with a cold, satisfied smirk. "Completely pathetic."

You glance down at your soaked clothes, the wet coffee staining your once-pristine suit. You can feel her eyes on you, a predator relishing in her prey's downfall. She steps back slightly, just enough to give you room to rise, but she keeps her gaze locked on you, like a cat toying with a mouse.

"You can’t walk around like that, though, can you?" she continues, her tone mocking. "Not in my office."

You wipe your face with a shaky hand and try to pull yourself together. "Megan, I—I’ll go clean up. I’ll change and—"

"Oh, you’ll change, alright," she interrupts, her voice sharp with amusement. "But you’re not wearing whatever you think you are."

You pause, unsure of her meaning. She steps to the side and walks to her closet, which you’ve only ever seen her open for work files. This time, she pulls out something unexpected. Something that immediately sends your stomach into knots.

A maid’s outfit.

But it’s not just any maid’s outfit—it’s the kind of exaggerated, humiliating costume designed for a joke or, more cruelly, for exactly this kind of moment. The black-and-white uniform is made of shiny fabric, with lace trimming, a short skirt, and an apron. It’s degrading, childish, and humiliating, all in one piece of clothing. The sight of it makes your face burn.

"You’re kidding, right?" you stammer, unable to hide the panic in your voice. "Megan, I can’t—"

Her hand snaps out before you can finish, the sharp crack of her slap ringing through the room. Your head whips to the side, the sting of the impact radiating across your cheek. You stumble backward and collapse onto the floor again, the world spinning for a brief moment as you clutch your face, pain blurring your vision.

"You don’t get to tell me what you can or can’t do," she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "You will wear what I say, when I say it, or I’ll make sure Eleanor and Emily find out about every little thing you try to resist."

You lie there, stunned, the taste of shame mixing with the sharp sting on your face. Before you can respond, Megan steps forward again, lifting her foot to press her heel against your mouth. She pushes it just enough that you feel the leather against your lips, the weight of her shoe silencing you completely.

"You understand now?" she asks, her voice dripping with sadistic delight. "Or do I need to teach you more?"

Your heart races as the shoe presses down, the cold, smooth leather against your mouth. You feel the surge of humiliation shoot through you, hot and twisted, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, that sick thrill returns. The one you can’t deny. The one that craves this humiliation, that wanted to be caught, that wants to be controlled.

You nod weakly beneath her heel, your lips pressing against the leather as if to seal your silent agreement.

"Good," she says, stepping back and releasing you. "Now, get up. You’re going to change."

Your hands tremble as you slowly rise to your feet, your body aching with shame. Megan stands there, watching you with a cold smirk as you take the maid’s outfit from her hands. There’s no way out. No way to argue. She’s in control, and you’re not just accepting it—you need it.

You walk toward the small side room next to her office, where you’ve seen employees change before, and close the door behind you. The outfit feels absurd in your hands—light, frilly, mocking. You slip out of your coffee-soaked clothes and put the maid’s uniform on, piece by piece. Each article of clothing feels like it strips away the last remnants of your dignity, until finally, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You look ridiculous. The tight, frilled outfit barely covers you, and the apron feels like a symbol of everything you’ve become—nothing more than Megan’s servant, reduced to this.

But as much as you want to fight the shame, you can’t. You crave it. The way the fabric clings to you, the way it humiliates you, the way you know Megan will see you—it stirs that dark, twisted part of you that always wanted this.

When you step back into her office, Megan’s laugh is sharp and merciless. She walks over, inspecting you with a cruel smile. "Now, that’s more like it," she says, circling around you as if you’re nothing more than an object to be inspected. "This suits you, Tom. In fact, I think this is how you should dress every day."

You stand there, your heart racing, unable to respond. Your face burns with shame, but you don’t move. Megan sits down behind her desk and smirks, satisfied with her work.

As the door opens, other women from the office walk in—some from marketing, others from HR. They stop in their tracks when they see you, their eyes wide with surprise before the laughter starts.

"Oh my God, is that… Mr. Davenport?" one of them says, her voice thick with amusement.

"Guess he’s not the boss anymore," another laughs. "Megan’s little maid now?"

The office is filled with cruel jokes and mocking remarks, but you stand still, letting it wash over you, sinking deeper into the role Megan has carved out for you. Every comment, every laugh, it digs into you, but it also feeds that sick part of you—the part that’s growing, the part that *loves* this.

You crave it.

Suddenly, Megan’s phone rings, and she picks it up, her grin widening as she speaks. "Emily? Oh, you won’t believe what I’ve got for you and Eleanor to see. Come to the office, quickly."

Your stomach drops, but the thrill builds. You know what’s coming. Emily and Eleanor are going to see you like this—completely stripped of your power, your dignity. They’ll see what Megan has turned you into.

And you’re not afraid. You *want* them to see. You *need* them to see.

Megan hangs up the phone and looks at you, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "This is just the beginning," she says softly, her voice full of promise. "By the time they’re done with you, you won’t even recognize yourself."

You bow your head, the weight of your new reality sinking in. There’s no turning back now. You belong to them, and the humiliation is just beginning.

When Emily and Eleanor arrive, you know that whatever you were before is gone forever. You’ve been reduced, and you can’t wait to see how much further they’ll take you.