I Think I'll Call You Lacy

Eight Months Ago - Thursday, 4:13 PM

He dared not open the packages. Tricia had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted to be there when he opened them. They spent days just preparing to order this outfit. Measuring, researching and ultimately ordering the items in these boxes had taken longer than either of them expected.

He was more than a little frightened of what these packages contained.

As the ordering process progressed, the outfit became more and more elaborate. The heels got higher. The maid uniform sluttier. The bondage more extreme. The corset...

...oh, God, the corset...

...the corset was now of the locking variety. An added strap could be fastened around the laces and then locked onto him.

...she's going to lock me into this outfit...

The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

He knew these packages contained his outfit. The address of where they came from made it painfully obvious.

She ordered me a maid uniform.

I now own my own maid uniform.

Just the thought was overwhelmingly erotic.

The two packages now sat on the bed, next to the other two that arrived the day before. All he could do was sit next to them. He was almost too stimulated to move.

Tricia had not had sex with him in over a month.

...well, not in the traditional way...

She had plenty of orgasms in that time thanks to his oral skills and her demand of them. His orgasms were fewer and farther between.

Of course, he could create his OWN orgasm. It was exceedingly easy these days to crank one out with all the constant arousal and stimulation of this game they were playing...

... but there was a problem.

When he came, the fantasy of the game disappeared. The clothing, the deliciously naughty underwear he was wearing everyday now, would lose its erotic appeal and just become awkward and uncomfortable.

He had nothing else to wear anymore, regardless of his mood. In fact, Tricia had him in almost entirely tom-boy clothing these days. He had very few articles of male clothing left in his closet anymore. Over the last month, she had slowly and systematically removed most of his old clothing. The jeans he wore now were tight and sculpted. They were clearly women's jeans. His shirts were cut tight

and showed off the little mounds that his bodysuits formed up top.

...the bodysuits I seem to be wearing every day...

Without the excuse of going to work, it was a losing argument to fight against it. The truth was, he was thrilled.

So long as he stayed aroused.

Therein lied the problem.

When he was not aroused, the clothing made him feel uncomfortable.

More than uncomfortable.

Awkward.

Ashamed.

Most days, the awkwardness of his post-orgasm overcame the need to orgasm itself.

Most days.

Today, sitting next to these packages of untold feminine eroticism that he was forbidden to open, temptation was overwhelming.

He sat on the bed, his very aroused cock was partially tucked between his legs and pulled tight by the bodysuit.

Ugh. I'm so horny!

He felt like a pinup girl; posed with his legs together on the end of the bed, squirming with helpless arousal.

Before she left this morning, Tricia laid out his clothing for the day. She did that most mornings, helping him choose his outfit each day.

For weeks now it had been the same thing. Jeans and increasingly tight shirts, always with lingerie underneath.

Always stockings or leotards...

...always panties...

...always an overly uncomfortable bodysuit...

...and now sandals with a slight heel.

Today was different.

In more ways than one...

Only lingerie had been left on the bed for him this morning.

No outerwear.

He felt exposed...

...naughty...

... and oh-so-aroused.

Doing his daily cleaning of the house had been an exercise in arousal control. Each movement made him aware of how exposed he was. His smooth, hairless skin was being teased and tormented by the outfit. Despite being in the privacy of his own home, he felt incredibly vulnerable.

...especially after what she did to me this morning...

He shifted on the bed, his ass feeling overly sensitive.

The whole experience had not been pleasant, but his protests had fallen on deaf ears...

It started with the enema...

...the uncomfortable and strangely arousing enema...

...but having her wax down there...

...back there...

His hands snaked down his body and into his panties. He had been rubbing his hands all over his body more and more lately and even more so today. He did not know which he enjoyed more, the feel of femininity beneath his hands, or the feel of hands on his femininity.

Inside his panties, his fingers slid through the tiny heart shape of his closely trimmed pubic hair. He was maintaining it that way now. It still made his stomach squeamish.

I have heart shaped pubic hair. Mmmm...

But now...

...as his hand went further down...

His entire groin was baby smooth save for that tiny heart above his cock. There wasn't a loose hair or even the slightest trace of stubble. She had even done between his ass cheeks.

He shifted again, overly aware of how smooth everything on his body felt now.

His mind went back to the waxing...

Never again!

...and the enema...

An enema EVERY morning?

She had to be kidding. She laughed when she said that.

Surely, she's joking.

Mark had a sinking feeling she was not.

Despite the stimulation it gave, it was tremendously uncomfortable and unpleasant. Yet, she had completely overruled his every objection to it.

She's been doing that more and more lately.

He shivered. The cool room and skimpy 'clothing' was keeping him permanently cold. His nipples threatened to burst through the bodysuit.

His eyes drifted back to the boxes and a warmth filled him from groin to head combatting the cold. As his hand moved between his legs, the long, pent-up orgasm overwhelmed him and his mind and body exploded with pleasure.

Today - Ten Minutes Ago

His whole body went cold as he heard his wife's voice say a single, terrifying word.

"Enter!"

He watched as Lacy's smooth and overly-feminized hand slowly turned the handle. The door began to drift open.

Oh, God...

Their eyes were on him. As the door finished its arc, he found himself facing them. His brain refused to give any advice on what to say.

...or what to do...

Even Lacy seemed noticeably absent.

"I... um... I brought..."

His delicate hand held up the wet rag, even as his legs began to curtsey.

The smiles on their faces did not comfort him one bit.

"Well, go on," his wife said, "clean up the mess you made."

His eyes caught hers. Then without meaning to, his gaze shifted to the 'mess'.

Oh, God. No!

Mr. Goodwin had not moved, save for sitting back on the couch. His arms were crossed and he gazed at Mark with ...

...Lust?

Inside his head, Lacy returned squirming excitedly.

"Hurry up, girl!"

Miss Sellers was behind the couch again. He could hear her foot tap once.

Twice.

"We have more important things to do today than waiting on your lazy ass, Lacy."

A soft whimper formed in the back of her throat and she flung herself forward on the crazy heels, manically clicking towards the couch. She had to get out of here.

No more punishments.

No more helplessness.

She just needed to be a good maid. Clean up the mess and leave the room.

...clean up the...

Mr. Goodwin spread his knees as Lacy approached.

"She really did leak all over me," he said, chuckling. "I guess you were right."

"I told you," Tricia said, "She's insatiable."

Lacy's eyes widened as she drew near, her body moving as if in a tractor beam.

The inner thighs of Mr. Goodwin's pants were dark with wetness.

...from me...

She shuddered as she held out the towel for him, her hand trembling.

"Lacy!"

Miss Sellers' voice caused her to flinch.

"Get down on your knees and clean up the fucking mess you made. What is wrong with you today?"

...nonononono...

"I'm sorry, Miss Sellers... it's just..."

"Just what?"

Her voice was harsh and cold. Lacy nibbled on her lip and took a deep breath.

I just have to clean it up and go...

...get out of this room...

...get out of here...

With her eyes closed she sank to her knees, wobbling as the back of her heels left the floor in a crouch. Her unsteadiness forced her to reach out, grabbing one of his legs for stability. As she realized her hand was touching his leg, she jerked away as if bitten by a snake.

...this can't be happening...

Her eyes slowly opened and the disorientation was overwhelming.

She was kneeling between a man's legs. Every inch of her body seemed to be reminding her of what she looked like. The taut garter straps on her ass were pulled tight. The overly-constricted corset pulled everything else in. The damnable, tickling petticoats fluffed out around her, exposing her thighs. Even the insane heels, still forcing her toes down at that uncomfortable angle, made her feel slutty.

Everything she wore screamed at her senses as she knelt between his legs.

A long strand of her strawberry-scented hair fell across her face and tickled her nose. Without warning, one of Mr. Goodwin's hands darted forward and pushed it back behind her ear. The touch on her face made her shiver. The hand was gone just as suddenly as it had touched her. She found herself staring up at him.

He just brushed the hair out of my face...

...just like they do in porn movies...

She looked up at him and regretted it. Looking up made her feel even more slutty and submissive.

"Lacy! Stop teasing the poor man and clean up your mess."

She shuddered and brought the hand-towel up between his legs. The dark patches were definitely cum.

...my cum...

The patches had the slick, viscous appearance that was undeniably the sticky consistency of pre-arousal.

She dabbed dutifully on Mr. Goodwin's right thigh, cleaning away the slime.

She blotted it, dab after dab, trying to soak up the liquid. It was not working. The liquid was too slimy. She rubbed softly and then more firmly. Small circles.

Oh, God...

It was not gone, but it was better. He shifted, facing the other leg.

She pressed the damp towel to Mr. Goodwin's left thigh and then pulled away in horror as if bitten by a snake.

That was not his thigh!

"Almost done, Lacy." Mr. Goodwin said above her. As if adding punctuation to the sentence the long lump along his left thigh twitched.

Lacy bit her lip hard and held her breath as she dabbed the towel against it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Dabbing was not working.

She rubbed it, feeling the lump roll up and down beneath the towel.

Oh, God! Is it getting bigger?

With the fifth dab and rub, she brought the rag back down and looked up at the two of them for approval.

Tricia was smirking at him, her eyes wide and...

...aroused?

Mr. Goodwin was smiling too. His hand darted back out and caressed the side of Lacy's head, running his fingers through her hair. For a moment, she panicked.

Is he going to pull my head towards it?

It was just a soft caress, just behind her ear.

...a fond caress...

I think he likes me.

Oh, God!

"Thank you, Lacy."

His voice was soft and encouraging.

Lacy shivered.

Tricia cleared her throat.

"Your makeup is in the drawer of the guest bathroom, I believe. Why don't you go fix your face? You look like a drowned raccoon."

Lacy's already burning face, went beet-red instantly.

Do I look that bad?

She darted backwards and away from the couch, scrambling awkwardly to her feet.

"Yes, Miss Sellers, thank you..."

The curtsy was awkward and stunted as she tried desperately to find her balance on her feet again. As she ran for the door, her penis bobbed comically under her petticoats. She hoped with all her heart that they could not see her arousal as she ran.

Today - Sunday, 5:47 PM

As her thoughts went over and over the last few minutes, her erection slowly began to fade. The cold toilet seat helped. The uncomfortable helplessness of sitting in a corset helped more.

She was cried out.

There could not possibly be any tears left in her.

With a sigh, she stood and moved to the mirror.

Her face was a disaster. Mascara ran all the way down her cheeks, and her lips were smeared like a prostitute clown.

...so slutty...

Tricia...

...Miss Sellers...

...had been true to her word. Her entire makeup collection was now in this drawer instead of the normal drawer in the upstairs bathroom.

With still trembling hands, she clipped her hair back and began to wipe her face clean. It would be far easier to start over than to repair the drippy mess that was her face.

Eight Months Ago - Thursday, 5:22 PM

"You don't understand, Tricia."

His voice was whiny. He hated when his voice sounded this way.

"Oh, I understand."

She was sitting on the bed, her arms crossed. Her voice was frost on a winter morning.

"I'm sorry."

He was.

This should have been a magical night. The outfit they had so carefully chosen together should have led to an evening of erotic experience like no other.

Hopefully, it still would.

That would not happen tonight, though.

Because of me.

"It's just not fun when I'm not in the mood..."

She clucked in the back of her throat.

"...and who's fault is that?"

He blushed again. It had come upon him so quick. All that pent up sexual tension had pushed him to the edge and beyond.

Why didn't I wait? Damnit!

"Well, I'm sorry you're not in the mood..." Tricia said, her voice like ice, "...but I'm afraid our new maid has duties to attend to tonight."

He cocked his head at her.

"Tricia, I'm not in the mood. Maybe in another hour or so we could..."

"Do you have any idea how much we spent on that outfit of yours, Mark?"

He shut his mouth. He DID know.

"I paid for a maid, and I expect her to earn her keep."

Mark goggled at her.

She can't really expect...

From the box on the bed, she pulled out the corset. Without a word, she stood and held the garment open in front of him.

It was only a single step forward. As he took that step, she fastened the garment around him. With no arousal, the whole experience was nothing but humiliating and uncomfortable. She pulled at the cords...

Minutes passed with her working on it. She yanked and tugged and finally she fastened the ties in the back. Mark thought he was going to die.

"I... think... it's too tight..."

"It's supposed to be tight, baby. You'll get used to it."

...used to it...

Butterflies were fluttering in his compressed stomach.

"It's too tight, Tricia. I can't breath."

She was back at the bed now... digging through the second box.

"Take small breaths, baby."

She was coming at him again now. This time with the lockable strap.

He backed away frantically. She had made it too tight.

She doesn't understand!

This thing was going to kill him if she locked it on. He tried to push her away, but she easily turned him around and fastened the locking strap around him. He heard the click of the lock and fear welled up inside of him.

"Tricia. Seriously... I don't want to do this right now. This is too much..."

She sat back on the bed, looking at him with her head cocked.

"I think..." a smirk crossed her lips. "I think I'm going to call you Lacy."

Today - Sunday, 6:01 PM

Lacy's thoughts went back to that night as she reapplied her makeup in the guest bathroom. That had been the first night she had started wearing makeup. Tricia had insisted on seeing her...

...him...

...in full maid attire. Despite his many protests, she had gotten her way...

...as always...

It had been arousing by the end of it, but that first hour had been complete and total misery.

The makeup lessons had begun that night...

...and everyday since then...

Even on the days when Lacy wasn't required for 'service', he was expected to wear lip gloss and a light foundation. Most days it was completely and totally stimulating.

...so long as I don't cum...

He did not orgasm very much these days for just that reason. The stimulation stayed annoyingly constant.

"I think I'm going to call you Lacy..."

He had never thought of himself as a Lacy. In his fantasies, or whenever he dabbled online, he was always Wanda.

...an elegant name... with class... Lacy just sounds so...

She was brought out of her thoughts by the doorbell.

The eyes of the girl in the mirror widened. She looked like a deer in headlights. The deer wore newly applied, immaculate makeup.

The door.

Who's at the door?

"Lacy!"

No. Nonononono.

"Get the door, please!"

Oh, God... she can't possibly expect...

The doorbell chimed again.

Apparently, she was not cried out after all. Tears sprung forward. She batted them away with her eyelids, her hands girlishly fanning them to keep her makeup from getting ruined again.

"Yes, Miss Sellers."

Her voice almost broke.

With the deepest breath the corset allowed, she summoned her courage and made her way to the front door.