French Maid

...the room is filled with light one more time. Before his eyes could focus again, Walter, in a panic, threw the helmet from his head, putting a stop to the cycles of transformation. He winced as he heard a loud cracking noise, the helmet hitting the ground hard.

"Shit," he said in an unfamiliar voice.

His eyes clearing, he looked down at himself. The sudden transformation was disorienting. One moment Walter was standing in his living room, and the next, he found himself with a fully formed feminine figure. Wearing a French Maid's costume!

Walter looked down at himself, taking in the full view of his new body in the French maid costume. The dress hugged his curves, accentuating every inch of his new feminine form. The tight bodice pushed his breasts up and together, creating an inviting cleavage that he couldn't help but glance at repeatedly. The short skirt showed off his legs, making them seem longer and more shapely than ever before. And the lacy stockings felt like they were caressing his skin, making his body feel both **** and sexy all at once.

His fingers trailed over the delicate fabric of the dress, feeling every ridge and contour. The lace felt soft against his fingertips, sending shivers up his spine. He ran his hands down the length of the skirt, feeling it swish against his legs. The fabric seemed to cling to his body, molding itself to his curves and making him feel even more feminine.

Walter couldn't help but glance at himself in the mirror, admiring his reflection. He twirled around, watching the skirt flare out around him. He felt like he was living in a dream, one where he was a beautiful, sensuous woman.

Suddenly, the urge to clean overcame him. It was as if his body was no longer his own, and it was moving on its own accord. He tried to resist, but he couldn't help it - his hands reached out for a feather duster that was lying on the nearby table.

As he cleaned, he found himself becoming more and more lost in the sensations of his new body. The way the fabric of the dress swished against his skin as he moved, the way the lacy stockings hugged his legs, and the way the high heels made him feel taller and more sensuous. It was like he was a different person entirely, one who was loved to serve, one who felt more alive than he ever had before.

Walter tried to shake off the compulsion to clean, but it was too strong. He found himself moving around the room, dusting every surface and straightening up anything that was out of place. He couldn't understand why he was doing this, but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if it was written into his genetic code, the truest expression of who he was.

As he cleaned, Walter became more and more aware of his own body. The way his breasts bounced and swayed with each movement, the way the skirt clung to his hips, and the way the stockings hugged his thighs. Every movement he made seemed to create a new sensation, one that sent shivers up his spine and left him wanting more.

He knew he was in trouble. With the helmet broken, he was stuck in his current form. But in that moment, with so much to do, Walter cared less and less by the moment. What he really needed to do was get his house in order.