A maid's uniform.

Britney struggled with the leather straps of a strap on dildo stuck to her face as she staggered to her feet. She threw the rubbery sex toy to the ground. She struggled to keep her balance in the **** heels that now adorned her feet. She couldn't see them yet, due to being knee deep in degrading costumes, but she recognized the feeling of the high heels.

She looked down to see what she was wearing. A vast amount of lace lined cleavage, her own, awaited her. The ridiculously puffy sleeves, the white apron, Britney had been made into the quintessential French Maid fantasy. The breath was **** out of her as an un-tightened corset under her dress clamped viscously down, clenching her body into an attractive hourglass.

The outfit thrummed on her body. It had been a long time since this particular costume had seen use, and it was eager to start. It tightened in all the right places, supporting and thrusting out Britney's ripe breasts. Britney struggled uselessly with the lacy maid's cap locked to her skull, as the uniform pulsed it's first waves of control throughout it's captive body. Britney's pussy began to lubricate, to an enormous degree. Much more than was natural.

Her warm juices flowed down her legs, staining the stockings. Britney was still attempting to remove the seamless thing encasing her when Mr. Lash's voice echoed into the room. It said one word: "Come". Britney had no intention of obeying the old bastard, but the uniform that now owned her recognized him as it's master.

Her body was **** to the door. Her master awaited her in the kitchen.