He's brought your evening wear with him.

You sit nervously on the edge of the sofa, unsure whether to stand or not as Sean comes through the door, whistling cheerfully. As your almost-bare ass shifts against the expensive sofa that you dozed off on, your shameful state of undress hits you all over again. Again you shift the tiny apron, trying to cover as much as you can of your full breasts.

"Good evening!" You don't like how cheerful he looks, and you don't like the look of the little black box under his arm. The sky outside the panoramic windows is dark, and down below the lights of the city twinkle. Inside there are only a few lights on, so the apartment feels intimate despite its size. "Hmmm." He makes a show of half glancing around at the place that you were meant to clean. He clearly doesn't care how clean it is. "Great job, Holly!" His eyes aren't on your face, they're roving over your cleavage and between your legs to where your little bush is peeking out over the super-thin, super-low panties.

You feel like a stripper, a smutty magazine for him to leer over. "Th-thanks."

"I knew you'd be a good maid. That's why I bought you something to change into for the evening. Something more relaxing." Really? "How are those fat titties? Sensitive in that peek-a-boo bra, huh?" You look down, blushing scarlet. On cue, you feel your nipples ache against the white cotton apron. "Relax. I don't need a maid in the evening anyway. In the evening you can be something else. Now, why don't you strip again? Then I'll give you your present."

He holds the little black box out in front of him, dropping his college bag on the floor, and you look up at him dumbly. It's going to be humiliating isn't it? Whatever it is will be humiliating, but can it be as humiliating as this?