Maidenhead

PROLOGUE

Her hand crept under the petticoats. Lacy quivered.

She stood there, her legs weak and trembling as her wife explored. One of the hands grazed against the smooth inner thigh. The other caressed her face, squeezing it slightly to pucker Lacy's lips.

Her whole body ached with the constrictions of the outfit: the heels, locked on and crushing her toes; the corset, tightened just a little too much, making her breath shallow and ragged; the straps of the garter belt, stretched tight against her bare legs. The whole outfit dripped with bondage and submission.

The hand explored upward, searching for the arousal that throbbed under the skirts.

Lacy was in seventh heaven.

Mark was in hell.

All the while, the Bimbo part of her brain whimpered with delight, taking control of her body and melting into the roving hands.

CHAPTER ONE

Today - Sunday, 3:15 PM (Central Standard Time)

"Having fun, Mark?"

The words were a deep whisper in Lacy's ear. Her breath quickened. She could only nod, a slight mewling moan escaping her pink lips.

"Spread your legs a little."

Her overly aroused brain could barely process the words, but her body followed the orders with little-to-no thought. The Bimbo-Slut inside of her had control and she was little more than a reed in a tornado.

Her weight shifted onto one of her high-heeled boots and then onto the other. Her toes throbbed in the constraining shoes. Her feet spread further out matching the width of her shoulders. Her ass jutted outward pressing towards the woman. Her hands and elbows were already against the wall, the surface cool against her cheek.

The finger between her legs caused another mewling noise to come from her throat like a cat in heat.

Beneath the seemingly endless layers of petticoats were two sets of panties. The inner most was a cruelly tight gaff that hid Lacy's secret equipment. The outer pair was a ruffled pair of pink panties with black lace. Every move she made, every breath she took, caused the lacy panties to tickle her legs with overwhelming stimulation.

The teasing finger slid forward, outside of these two garments, causing a gushing flow of liquid within them.

"Look how wet you are." Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, "You really are a dirty slut, aren't you?"

The words caused another gush of moisture. Her emphasis on the word 'slut' only made Lacy feel more like one.

"You smell like sex, Lacy-girl."

The finger between her legs withdrew and Lacy whimpered. The arousal was so intense. Her trapped member throbbed helpless, as if screaming for attention.

A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. Lacy cried out. It was a soft, submissive cry. Her hair was real. There was no need for a wig anymore. Mark always wore it in a pony tail, but Lacy...

Lacy had long, flowing chestnut locks. They tickled her neck and shoulders with every move. Washed and conditioned with sweet nectars for months, it permanently smelled like strawberries. The odor wrapped around her face kept Lacy's olfactory senses in overdrive and drove the Bimbo in her head wild. It felt as if she was constantly oozing pheromones out of every pore.

The hand in her hair pulled her head back further. A finger pressed to her lips.

"You probably taste like sex too, don't you, slut?"

Lacy moaned, deep in her throat. Yet, there was a problem that crept into her head, forcing the Bimbo to retreat. Mark returned, invading her head like a virus.

Mark was the kill-joy.

The wet blanket.

The one who didn't like being Lacy.

More than anything, Mark did not like the idea of the taste of his own arousal. He filled Lacy's thoughts with revulsion and the Bimbo drifted even further away.

It did not last.

The Bimbo was too excited to let Mark take control. The arousal was too extreme... too tasty. She fought against him, clawing her way back into the driver's seat. Taking control and letting her body submit. Mark sat in the back of his own mind, unable to stop the horny slut from opening her lips and sucking the finger inside. The finger pressed inwards and her mouth filled with the taste.

The taste of cum.

"Do you like that taste, Lacy?"

The breathy words tickled her ear, causing hairs on her neck to stand up. Lacy moaned, lightly sucking her cheeks in around the intruder in her mouth.

Slowly it withdrew and Lacy longed for it to return.

She pouted as it lingered for a second on her lips and then disappeared. She wanted it back in her mouth. She felt empty without it.

"Now your breath smells like cum again, you dirty, slut."

The words snapped Mark to the foreground. He really did not like that idea at all.

For Mark, the urge to dress like this was a fun fantasy. To be submissive was terrifying and thrilling. It was sexy, naughty... and more than a little out of his control. Sharing this fantasy with his wife was a dream come true. Ever since she embraced this game, she seemed to be enjoying her role as the dominant, controlling partner more and more. She almost seemed like a different woman than the one he was married to a few months ago. Every day seemed to bring some new feminine eroticism to his life. He loved it and he hated it. Yet at moments like these, with his wife dominating him like this, it was hard to hate much of anything.

The 'cum' comment though, that tip-toed back into uncomfortable territory. She knew he did not like that. Putting that cum-covered finger into his mouth... that crossed the line. It was a line he had drawn and she continued to overstep regardless of his feelings.

He shifted, pushing against the wall to stand up straight, but the hand returned to his head grabbing his hair. In the towering heels he did not have very good leverage and he felt his cheek press back against the wall.

Being controlled... forced in this way... pushed Mark back into Sub-Space. The Bimbo flared up like a bonfire and just like that he was Lacy again.

She felt the other hand return as well. The finger between her legs began to torment her yet again, even as the other hand was pressing her face uncomfortably against the wall.

Lacy moaned, accepting the position. Her ass, already prominently up in the air, seemed to lift higher, begging for more contact than just the one, lightly-touching finger. Her whole torso pressed hard against the wall. Her mouth opened, panting with desire, saliva pooling in her mouth.

The hard smack on the ass brought Mark back. This time he was even more indignant.

She kept messing this up.

He did not like spankings. Pain did nothing for him. She knew this. And yet...

...yet the Bimbo was fighting against him almost as if she did like being spanked. Mark felt his ass wiggle back and forth, practically begging for another smack. The slut liked being disciplined. She liked how helpless she felt.

Lacy gasped again. Between her spread legs another huge gush of arousal wet her panties. The male and female personas battled for control of the body they shared and Mark finally relented into a retreat, letting the Bimbo win. It was only a light smack after all. A submissive, feminine moan left her lips as she seized control and melted against the wall she was pressed against.

"Go pour a couple of glasses of wine and meet me in the study."

His wife's heels clicked down the hall and she was gone.

It was all so sudden

Lacy collapsed against the wall, her whole body tingling with desire. She could still feel the teasing finger between her legs and her knees snapped together as if to keep the feeling there. The wetness between her legs squished.

She could not catch her breath. The urge to run her own hands between her legs and finish the job was overwhelming.

Mark begged for it, deep in the back of his brain.

Cum! cum-cum-cum!

If Lacy came, the crazy submissive urges would go away and he could take back control. He could take off the ridiculous outfit, remove the horrible, crushing, heeled boots, unlace the unrelenting corset, and go back to being Mark.

The man of the house...

Instead of Lacy...

The maid.

The servant.

The slut.

The arousal was too delicious though. The Bimbo-Slut had control.

Until the Bimbo climaxed, Mark was helpless. The submissive bitch had complete and total control over the dominant part of his brain.

The irony was not lost on Mark.

The maiden stood, the garter straps stretching tight against her smooth and creamy thighs. Her hair wafted around her, filling her nose with her own sweet, strawberry-perfumed scent. Beneath the fruity smell was another odor. The undertone of arousal. Even to her own nose, she smelled like a bitch in heat.

The combination of a shaper corset and heels kept her posture rigidly straight. Her chest was thrust out. Her tiny pectoral muscles compressed and formed tiny, budding breasts swelling atop the corset. Looking down it still felt unreal how his own chest was forming cleavage, as small as it was.

Both the corset and the heels were locked tight around her. Tiny, heart-shaped padlocks were on each ankle. A slightly larger one hooked into the back of the belt that covered the laces of the corset. With the laces knotted and covered by the locked belt, there was no removal of the breath-defying bondage. The locks on her ankles tapped against her feet with every step as a reminder that there was no escape.

The key to her freedom, lay safely in the possession of her wife. Except Tricia was not her wife. The key was with Mark's wife. The key was with Lacy's Mistress.

Lacy was not a husband. How could she be? Disguised in this slutty and overly feminine form it was impossible for Lacy to be a husband.

Lacy was a servant. She was a servant with a task. Go pour a couple of glasses of wine and meet me in the study. She straightened the maid outfit... ...MY maid outfit... ...and spread the short dress out over the seemingly endless amounts of petticoats.

The puffy sleeves of her dress covered her upper arms. It gave her big, poofy shoulders, making her arms look slim and shapely.

Along her front, a delicate satin lace formed a V-shape from bosom to belly-button. This only emphasized the dramatic shaping the corset did to her waist.

A giant, bouncy white bow was on her back, connected to a ridiculously short apron in front that stood almost horizontal to the floor because of the mountains of petticoats beneath it.

Just the sight of this outfit hanging in the closet could cause the Bimbo-Slut inside of Lacy to spring forward, stealing control from Mark. While he was wearing it, there was little hope that he could escape from her.

There was no escape until she achieved orgasm.

Only when she came like the little slut she was, could Mark truly come back.

Mark wished she would hurry. Then he could hang this silly, stupid, maid outfit in the back of the closet and maybe have a leisurely Sunday afternoon for once.

This was assuming he could get the key.

Go pour a couple of glasses of wine and meet me in the study.

Getting the key meant being a good servant to her Mistress.

A good maid.

She had to be an obedient maid to a dominant Mistress.

Another little gush of liquid filled Mark's panties with that thought and he retreated back into sub-land, letting the Bimbo take control.

Lacy clicked her way to the kitchen. The boots she wore were five-inches high with a thin, little heel that gave her no end of trouble. Each step had to be taken with care or the mincing maid would find herself in a pile of petticoats on the floor. She would have trouble even getting to her feet while wearing the impossibly tight corset. The fear of being helplessly spread out on the floor made walking in the heeled-boots a constant tightrope act. She teetered just standing still. Walking was an exercise in concentration. Having to spend so much thought on walking only emphasized the feeling of being a bimbo, which brought THE Bimbo back into control with full force. Lacy's walk took on a mincing stride, with short, quick steps that swayed her ass back and forth.

The Bimbo loved walking that way. Mark liked it too, if he were to be honest. At least in private he loved it. When flaunting his ass in front of a demanding Mistress, Mark felt nothing but shame and insecurity. As much as he enjoyed playing this fantasy with his wife, it was still awkward being on display. He liked the fantasy of being sexy. The reality of being looked at and judged, however, was an entirely different story.

Yet, out of eyesight, Lacy swung her hips with her hands parallel to the floor. Her arms swung in counterpoint to her ass. It was the short, mincing stride of a perfect, sexy maid, who knew that all eyes would be on her.

A side effect of the walk was an increased level of arousal. Lacy walked as if on a line. With each step, one foot was placed directly in front of the other. It swayed her emphasized ass even more and caused her smooth thighs to rub together delightfully. The tickling of the ruffled panties under the deliciously, evil petticoats, only emphasized the thrill.

Slow down.

Too much walking would end the whole game and bring Mark back. The Bimbo did not want that. She wanted to relish this. After all, she had put in the work to deserve this.

The kitchen was immaculate.

That was the true cost of Lacy.

The Mistress would tolerate the game and play the dominant, so long as Lacy did all the chores in the household.

So long as Lacy played the dutiful maid, the game continued.

It was a small price to pay for the intense eroticism Lacy garnered from the situation.

Mark hated it. Cleaning was not sexy. It was not fun. It was tedious. There were also the other orders. The other things his wife was demanding now. She was getting more and more bold with the game, making it more and more real with each passing day.

Too real.

But, so long as the Bimbo stayed in control... as long as she did not climax... then Lacy remained and the chores somehow always got done.

The orders got obeyed.

The white wine filled the glasses.

Unable to help herself, Lacy bent at the waist to put the bottle back in the fridge. With her legs crossed slightly, she knew the image she presented. She felt the cool air of the kitchen on her exposed backside and shivered. If someone saw her like this, with her petticoats up and her backside exposed with nothing but a little bit of fabric between her cheeks...

The fantasy was back. Out of eyesight from his wife, Mark let himself enjoy it.

Lacy looked good.

Really good.

As she pulled out the mirrored serving tray, she could not help but inspect herself in the distorted reflection it provided.

Another gushing wetness filled her panties at the sight.

Lacy looked even hotter than normal. Mark sprang forward just enough to lust over his own sexy reflection. He stared at the sexy, wet lips that puckered enticingly at him. He felt himself throb in his panties, imagining the pleasure those lips could give him. The thought then caused him to recoil as he pictured himself attached to those lips. The Bimbo seized the idea and took control, blowing a little kiss at the retreating male persona.

His wife had taken great pains this morning. She had spent way more time than usual helping him prepare. She had demanded he take extra pains too, making him showcase his beauty skills for her. So much extra time spent today on her makeup and hair. Every inch of his body meticulously shaved. Every lotion used, every last inch polished, buffed... perfect.

She had even shaped his eyebrows even more.

A little too much.

WAY too much!

Creamy, mineral foundation lay beneath gently emphasized cheeks. Long creamy lashes, poked out of immaculately feminine eyes, each lined with dramatic dark shadows.

In the serving tray reflection, the maid's pupils were so dilated you could barely see the brown iris. All that was visible were the large black pupils of arousal. Lacy was in heat. The Bimbo had control and the fantasy was in full effect this afternoon.

Her lips poofed out in a mock pout and her panties dampened again.

The girl in the reflection had lips painted in pink, moist and wet, glistening with glitter. Her Cupid's bow was the epitome of feminine.

With her lips out in a playful pout, Mark again felt the uncontrollable urge to fuck the girl reflecting up at him from the tray. To force his tongue into her mouth...

...and then maybe...

...maybe force something else in there. That mouth was made for sex.

Mark wanted her so badly it terrified him.

If he found such a sexy thing bent over in this kitchen, he would be hard pressed not to take complete and total advantage of her.

The thought sent him fleeing back into hiding.

Just a fleeting thought of being seen like this, frightened him more than anything in the world.

The Bimbo liked the idea. What if a man were to walk in and see Lacy flirting into the reflection?

She giggled and blew her reflection another kiss, solidifying her victory over the rapidly retreating Mark. She knew she was hot. She wished she could be admired by someone...

...anyone...

...if only just a little, tiny bit...

She adjusted the black-and-pink lace collar around her neck. With that in place and the gaff between her legs, Mark was completely hidden. There were no telltale bulges above OR below. There would be no grumpy kill-joy ruining her fun tonight.

She kissed the tray for real, pressing her wet lips against the cold lips of her mirror image. The smooth metal against her soft, hot lips felt wonderful and the eager slut even let her tongue sneak out and touch the fantasy slut, wishing it was a real pair of lips and not just a reflection.

The cold tray did not respond and Lacy could not help but pout a little. She needed to be touched...

...kissed...

...used...

She placed a decorative towel on the tray, covering the pink lip mark. The two glasses of wine went on the tray next.

With an oh-so-careful walk, she minced back to the study, her ass ticking back and forth like a pendulum. She balanced the tray on the pads of her long nailed fingers, letting the wine glasses lead her back to her Mistress.

She opened the door to the study and stepped inside.

"Did I say you could come in?"

Butterflies.

So many of them.

They filled her stomach to capacity.

Some of the fluttery fear came from Lacy, but mostly it stemmed from Mark.

Tricia was in full dominant mode today, and when his wife was in that kind of mood, Mark got very worried indeed.

"Um. No Ma'am."

She grimaced at him.

"Wine on the table, please."

There were more butterflies and Mark burrowed deep, hiding as best he could. She was really pushing his buttons tonight. All of his different fantasies were being combined, into a cocktail of wonder and horror. It was forcing him...

...forcing Lacy...

...to be completely submissive.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mistress grimaced again, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow.

"I have told you this before, slut. Ma'am makes me feel old. Miss Sellers is how you need to address me."

"Yes, Miss Sellers. Sorry, Miss Sellers."

Miss Sellers.

Not Mrs.

Certainly not Ma'am.

Miss.

His own last name had been taken away from him and claimed by this sexy, dominant woman in front of him. The butterflies flew in frantic circles around Lacy's corset-reduced stomach.

"That's two strikes, Lacy. If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to get punished today."

Lacy blushed and shook her head. Punishment might bring Mark back and she certainly didn't want that.

"What was that, Lacy?"

Lacy's blush flamed bright red on her face. She hated speaking. Even after quite a lot of practicing, she still felt unnatural and awkward. Miss Sellers told her it was almost perfect, but to Lacy's ear she still sounded too much like Mark.

"I'm not trying to get punished, Miss Sellers." Lacy's voice was soft and meek. She almost expected butterflies to come out of her mouth with how many were churning inside of her. Embarrassment crept out with the sound. Despite the awkwardness, her soft voice was undeniably feminine now. All the mandatory practice that Miss Sellers insisted on was working.

"You could have fooled me, you silly bimbo."

Bimbo.

The butterflies seemed to explode out her crotch, and her panties dampened yet again.

Lacy was a bimbo.

All she could think about was her own horniness and how hot she looked. She felt as if her brain could not function properly when aroused as much as she was.

The validation of hearing that said out loud while dressed this way made everything even more intensely erotic. She was a bimbo slut both in words and action.

Miss Sellers picked up one of the glasses and sipped from it.

Lacy stood there, unsure of what to do or how to stand.

She never knew what to do with her hands when in these situations. No matter what she tried, they always wound up clasped in front of her in an awkward hand-wringing knot. Self-consciousness was creeping in as his wife stared at him over her glass and Lacy found her two hands suddenly gripping each other in front of him.

Mark whimpered in the distance.

He hated being seen.

"Hands behind your back, girl. A good maid should always stand to attention."

Lacy immediately obeyed, her hands clasping behind her back. The posture thrust her chest out further and caused the already exploding butterflies in her stomach to whirlwind. Her Mistress just stared over her glass at the attending maid. It was a considering look. It was a look that made her feel very, very uneasy.

"I suppose you're ready to cum now?"

Lacy's eyes closed and eagerness filled both Mark and Lacy.

Oh god yes. So horny.

Both he and the Bimbo-Slut were so close to orgasm just from the overload of erotic stimuli all around. All of their buttons had been pushed, all their triggers primed.

"Yes, please."

Her voice was so soft.

So meek. So perfectly feminine.

"And your chores are all done?"

There was another gushing in her panties.

Her chores.

The slutty maid was being required to serve. Another button had been pushed.

"Yes, Miss Sellers. The house is clean."

"Good girl."

Another gush of pleasure spurted.

Girl.

The way Miss Sellers said it. 'Girl' wasn't a name but a thing. The way she tossed it out there, made Lacy sound like a favored pet more than a person. It was so erotic to hear...

So arousing.

"There is still one, little thing left though."

Lacy's eyes popped open with alarm.

What? What did she forget? Stupid, stupid, slutty, bimbo girl.

"What thing, Miss Sellers?" The voice wasn't right. It was more Mark than Lacy. Mark was ready for the fun part, the finishing climax to this embarrassing game.

The chores were a necessity to play this game, but he had paid that price.

Lacy was worried. Somehow, Mark had tainted the question with just a touch of petulance. That was not how you talked to the Mistress. There was no doubt from the look on Miss Sellers' face that she had heard the insolence.

"You promised me something, Mark."

Ugh. She used his real name. His male name. Why did she have to do this? Why ruin it now?

"What?" His male voice shooting out of his shiny pink lips startled them both. His hands clasped in front of him again as awkwardness sprung forward. He forced them to his side in a more masculine pose but that felt even more awkward in the flurry of petticoats and skirts. He tried crossing them, but that made it hard to breathe while tied tightly into the corset and only emphasized his 'breasts' upwards.

He grimaced, then put his hands back behind him. That was better, except it only drew attention to how submissive and feminine he currently was. It made him feel like a little girl throwing a tantrum and standing in the corner for punishment. He caught his reflection in the mirror over the mantle. A submissive, feminine maid was pouting about being disciplined and looking back at him angrily.

Thankfully, seeing the overly sexy maid pout in the mirror made the Bimbo reassert herself. Her lower lip went out almost instinctively and she looked at Miss Sellers with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Now be a good girl, Lacy," Mistress smirked, "Unless you really do want me to punish you."

Lacy quickly shook her head no. Her hands were back in front of her, wringing together in worry. She forced them back behind her.

"No need to get your panties in a bunch."

That was better. They were back to playing the game and no more of the calling him Mark bullshit. He loved his wife, but sometimes she just didn't get the idea of role-playing. Tricia could drift in and out of it so suddenly, that it was sometimes difficult to maintain his fantasies throughout.

He let the Bimbo have full control again.

"Yes, Miss Sellers." The Lacy persona oozed back in like a foot sliding into a warm bath. Her voice turned soft and sultry, her body a teasing wonderland.

"I just wanted to remind you that you promised me something."

"Oh?"

Mark felt vertigo, falling what felt like a thousand miles down into the front of his consciousness again. He was shaking his head.

"Oh."

No. She couldn't be serious about...

"Oh!"

Realization sank in. He suddenly knew what she was talking about and his stomach no longer contained butterflies. Birds must have eaten them, because now there were millions of them, pecking and fluttering about within his belly.

"Nononono...I'm... um... I don't..."

"No?" Her voice was cold. A little too cold despite the smile on her face. "You don't get to say 'no'. You promised me, Lacy."

"Look Tricia, I don't feel..." Mark was back now. His slightly deeper, masculine voice was completely off-putting coming out of the petite, feminine image in the mirror.

"You promised me, Mark." The smile was still there as she looked over her glass at him, but now it had a sadistic twinge to it. Ice would use her tone to cool down.

"I believe we'll take that picture of you tonight."

Tonight? It was only two o'clock in the afternoon. That meant hours more in this submissive hell. Not to mention the photo itself. It would be a photo of him like this. What if someone saw it? What if it got out? What if....

"I never promised..." he stammered the words.

He knew the words would not hold water. He crossed his arms under the tiny bosom the corset made, pushing up the mounds on his chest. The girl in the mirror looked young and petulant.

"I said we could play sissy-maid today if you let me get a picture of you all dressed up."

"I never agreed to that." He was full-fledged pouting now. This was not a sexy pout, but a scared and very uncomfortable Mark-pout.

A picture of him as Lacy. Proof of this little fantasy... of this... ...hobby. If that picture were to be seen by anyone...

"Are you dressed up?" Her voice was still level. She was not wavering an inch.

"Well, yes... but..."

"And who has the key to your little...outfit?"

Nausea.

His whole stomach heaved and for a moment he thought he was going to lose it.

Did she really just say that? Did she really just threaten me?

The Bimbo swooned in his head and his panties dampened uncontrollably over and over, big globules spurting out.

Blackmail was another button. It was a button for the Bimbo, at least.

Mark did not find that he was enjoying it.

Mark was done.

His mind instantly did the checklist.

The shoes: the infernal painful shoes were locked onto his feet.

The corset: it kept his waist slim, his bust pushed up and was locked onto him with a belt.

The uniform: the wonderfully erotic maid uniform, was hooked up the back and locked with a tiny, heart-padlock between his shoulders.

The locks all used one key and there were two copies.

One was on the necklace, dangling on his wife's breastbone. Part of the game was her holding the key and unlocking him at the end.

The other key...

His eyes darted to the mantle.

The other was his key, left carefully on the mantle for emergencies.

His eyes darted back to her...

...to her neck...

Two, tiny, little keys dangled above her cleavage.

His eyes widened and a tiny gasp shot out of his pink lips.

"Don't pretend it doesn't arouse you, slut." Her voice regained a little of its playfulness...

...only a little...

"Don't pretend you hate me having complete and total control over you."

Squirt.

Even as his belly heaved, the Bimbo came out and resumed control, throbbing with heat and desire.

"Yes, Miss Sellers..." Lacy said in her soft submissive voice. "I do like that. I just really don't like the idea of having my picture taken while I'm..."

"Well, you don't really have a whole lot of choices, do you silly bimbo?" Miss Sellers laughed.

At her...

At him...

It made Mark feel about two-feet tall and he blushed all the way down to his crushed toes. The maid in the mirror was crimson faced.

"We're going to get a picture of that hot, little ass tonight, doing anything and everything I want. You are going to do exactly what I tell you, aren't you, maid? If you don't, you'll be punished. Isn't that the rule? Isn't that what you always wanted? To be treated like a submissive, little slut?"

Ooof. So many sexual buttons pushed all at once.

Lacy squirmed, her legs shifting back and forth around her wet crotch. As her bare thighs grazed each other above the heavenly stockings, her pleasure centers trembled. She almost came just from the threat.

Mark did not know whether to cum or cry.

His wife had stepped the game up this afternoon, there was no doubt about that. The fantasy was cranked to eleven.

Despite the fear and trepidation of the photo, she had turned Lacy instantly back up to full-fledged cat-in-heat mode. The outfit hugged his body so tight that it made even the little squirm Lacy was doing, an erotic experience.

"Now, I believe you need a reminder of who is in charge around here. Perhaps next time you will remember that arguing with me is not in your best interest."

Oooooh. Punishment. Soooo HOT!

The Bimbo squealed. Mark blanched. Lacy whimpered.

The three personalities all trembled at the thought for different reasons.

"Lean over the back of the sofa, slut."

Lacy's eyes widened.

Was this really happening? Was she about to really and truly get spanked for being naughty?

As always, the fantasy was so strong in her head, but the reality was horrible. The reality was: spanking hurt.

A playful pat was one thing. That could be erotic.

...but a spanking???

I'm about to be spanked!

Mark resisted.

The Bimbo practically drooled at the idea.

Lacy felt caught in the middle.

She liked the idea of punishment, but knew she would suffer the consequences of it after the game was done. While the arousal of the spanking was great in the moment, the aftermath was torture.

She heard her own voice say, "Yes, Ma'am", even as she moved behind the couch.

Her heels clicked loudly as the world began to move in slow motion. The hard back of the sofa pressed against her stomach. Slight vertigo took her as she leaned forward, her tall heels barely maintaining contact with the floor as the hard back of the sofa lifted her ass in the air. Her hands on the soft seat of the couch were the only thing keeping her from being totally up off the ground.

Miss Sellers uncrossed her legs and stood.

She strode gracefully around behind Lacy, clicking in her sensible black heels. As she disappeared out of eyesight, the butterflies in Lacy's stomach attacked with full force. She was painfully aware of what she looked like. She was the helpless maid, with her ass up in the air. The mounds of petticoats poofed upwards, completely exposing her helpless, ruffled backside. Her panties covered virtually nothing. Her garters were stretched tightly across her thighs now, pulling the stockings taut and emphasizing the bare, exposed skin that now faced outward.

A hand on the back of her head caused her to scream as it pushed her forward, toppling her.

She fell forward, her face joining her hands on the seat cushion. Her heels left the ground and dangled in the air. She kicked her legs out trying to get back to her feet but the hand on the back of her head held her easily off balance. Her stomach was being pushed against the back of the couch keeping almost all of the air from getting in. The corset dug painfully and she struggled desperately to breathe.

Out of control, with ass and legs dangling helplessly up in the air, feet kicking wildly in the crushing heels, Mark surfaced to try and get back control from both the Bimbo and the situation itself.

"I told you not to call me Ma'am!"

The first smack caused him to squeal. The sound was high and girlish and not at all intentional. Mark was desperately trying to reassert himself but finding it difficult in such an embarrassing and out of control situation. Lacy and the Bimbo had both disappeared, leaving him to take this humiliation without the arousal.

"Stop!"

His voice still wasn't masculine, almost as if stuck on Lacy mode. The second smack was even harder. He squealed again, squirming and trying desperately to get away. Forward, backward, it did not matter. He could not get away. She had him pinned and helpless.

Three rapid and very hard smacks stung his poor backside. Tears leapt into his eyes. He hated this. Even Lacy hated this. Lacy liked the idea of being teasingly spanked and punished. That was erotic.

This was not.

This was torture.

Then it all changed. The hard spank he was expecting never came. Instead, there was a gentle caress between his thighs.

"Oh god..." the Bimbo sprang forward instantly, her legs easing apart as the hand rubbed between her legs. She felt so helpless...

...upside down...

...legs in the air...

...barely able to breathe...

...face flushed...

...unable to escape...

...being fondled against her will.

"Oh, oh, oh, please..." her muffled voice whined and begged as she tried to press against the hand. It teased her, not quite applying enough pressure to give her satisfaction. It was driving her mad with desire.

She gulped for air, desperate to breathe. The back of the sofa tightened the corset around her, and she worried she would blackout.

She flailed her legs, trying both to capture the hand between them and to regain her feet.

"Look at you..." the voice was commanding and absolute from above the helpless maid. "Look at what a little, fucking slut you are. You'll forgive anything... even being beaten... for a hand between your slutty legs."

"Ooooooh," the moan left Lacy like a train pulling away from the station. The words coming from above her, only added to her fantasy...

...and to her genuine slutiness.

"Please, Miss Sellers. Please..."

There was no breath to give the words, making it no more than a whisper.

The hand smacked her ass again. It was a soft and playful spank this time, just the way Lacy liked it. It made her squirt yet another blob of liquid into her over-saturated panties. She was barely breathing now, the corset keeping her unable from getting oxygen. It was all she could do to gulp little sips of air.

It was air that smelled like the hair mussed all around her head.

It was air that smelled like strawberries.

The smell was so thick she could taste it.

"You're not getting out of this outfit until I get my photo, Lacy."

The hand between her legs began to rub back and forth. Lacy rolled her hips along the top of the couch, trying to encourage it.

"I will however, let you cum..."

"Oh god..."

YES YES YES YES YES YES!

"...please, Miss Sellers...."

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

"Please... please..."

She thrust her ass up and down against the hand between her legs, trying desperately to cum. She was humping the hand and sofa alike, trying so hard to get the stimulation she needed. It was almost enough to get her there.

"If I let you cum, you have to promise me..."

Anything!

"Please... Miss Sellers... please...."

So close, so close, so close...

"Promise me that you'll do whatever I say..."

Her stomach heaved. She had to cum. They all did. The Bimbo, Lacy and Mark. All of them were so close that the body they shared tingled uncontrollably on edge.

"Say it, Mark. Promise me."

"Jesus, Tricia. I promise. Just please...."

"Promise what, Lacy?"

"I promise, Miss Sellers. I promise to do whatever you say!"

She practically screamed the words into the couch cushion. It was so soft, with so little air behind it.

What if Miss Sellers didn't hear them? What if she wasn't allowed to cum?

She was so very, very, very close to climax!

"Good girl." The words were so soft from behind her, but the hand was so very firm. It rubbed once...

...twice...

...oh God...

Bells exploded in her head. The room chimed and deep, deep in her over-eroticized head, she recognized the tone as the doorbell.

She didn't care.

Her whole body exploded with the biggest climax of her life.