Maidservant

The following story contains mind control, coercive elements, and gender transformation. If any of those bother you, your time might be better spent elsewhere.

*****

"Did you truly think you could sneak into my home?" Lord Chester Wallace asked me.

"A little, yeah."

"How quaint," he said, "then are you prepared for what comes next?"

"What," I asked, "you gonna call the cops and let them see all that weird shit you've got here? Besides, you make one wrong move I'll shoot a hole through your fucking face."

"Oh please," he chuckled, "You aren't going to shoot me."

"That so? Tell you what. Let Molly go, and we'll see what happens."

"You already know I will not. She has already refused your... rescue. Why should she not, when she is so very happy here?"

"You did something to her. Fix it or else I'll..."

"You'll what?"

"I'll fucking shoot you, asshole. Did you think this was for show?"

The asshole just chuckled.

"Of course it was. I already told you, you are not going to shoot me."

"The hell I won't. You gonna give me some sort of 'if you were going to you already would have' bullshit?"

"No," he said, "Because you cannot."

"What?"

"Look down."

I did.

The gun in my hand was no a gun at all, but instead a light, fluffy feather duster. Ornate, frilly, and completely ridiculous. A thing utterly harmless. Not even all that great for cleaning, much less harming someone. I must have stared at it in disbelief for nearly ten seconds before I realized it was not the only thing changed, not even remotely. My mind had simply refused to recognize what else it was seeing.

Impossible!

I couldn't believe it, refused to accept it, but the proof before my eyes was undeniable. The thing which had once been a gun slipped from my slender, limp fingers.

There were tits! Big ones. The kind of soft, pillowy boobs you absolutely want to see when you're staring down a girl's dress. Perfect, bountiful cleavage that you could dive into all day long, with that lovely cream colored complexion accented by the faintest touch of blush. Utterly, absolutely gorgeous, something most women would kill for and most men would die to hold.

But I was a man, damn it, so what the hell were they doing on my chest?

Forgetting the gun, my hands scrambled upwards, refusing to believe their touch would find what my eyes already saw. They did though, the flesh I saw proved far too real beneath my fingertips. Soft and yielding, as perfect to touch as to the eye, each squeeze felt within and without. A sensation utterly alien, and yet strangely strangely arousing.

"Non, non," I said in a lifting, Soprano voice.

There was something around my neck. A frilly lace choker. I could not see it, but I didn't have to. My body was wrapped in a soft, clinging dress of black fabric and white lace, whose low cut bodice plunged low on my chest. The hem ended well shy of my knees, leaving my legs bare save for a pair of silken stockings that ended at the bottom of my thighs.

I knew this outfit, I had seen it before. On His Lordship's maids, on all his servants, by my wife Molly when I tried and failed to rescue her. And now worn by me.

No. No! I refused to accept it.

I shook my head, willing this to be some sick dream. The motion set my long, braided swinging. This could not be real, I refused to let it be so. There was a pressure about me. In my head? No something deeper, etherial, almost spiritual, a force pushing against my very being. Not knowing how, I pressed back, as if denial alone could change reality. Something shifted. A blink of the eye, and everything was normal once more.

The gun was on the floor. Not some gaudy accessory, but the cold steel I had carried to rescue my wife. Once again, I wore my simple black t-shirt and faded jeans. With that perfectly flat chest and gym rat physique I had worked so hard to develop.

"What the hell was that? A trick? An illusion?"

"No," he said, "a reality. THE reality, for it is inevitable you will accept the truth."

"Truth, what truth?"

"That you belong to me, my dear, as my willing and eager maidservant."

A shock ran through me, I rang like a bell struck by the force of his words.

"Non, Monsieur," I said, "Je suis libre - Oh!"

It had happened again. Somehow, without noticing it, I had slipped back into the body of a woman. More than that. I knew somehow that it had always been so. Not a transformation, a change, or an alteration, simply the true reality of who I was. Except, I knew full well that none of it had been true just seconds ago.

How could I not have noticed? Everything felt so different like this. All of these strange, feminine feelings I was forced to experience. Even breathing was changed, in the tight, confining bodice of my dress.

Wrapped up in the horror my bosom had stirred, I had ignored another change. One no less meaningful or fundamental. A difference felt between my thighs. One I did not wish to confront, but dared not ignore any longer. I did not, could not touch, but the difference was obvious all the same. A flatness, an absence where I had once risen. No, more than that, an emptiness. Some deep incompleteness within me that cried out in its lack.

I looked now to His Lordship, locking eyes with the man who had done this to me. It stirred something now, provoking and deepening that empty longing. An old, familiar sensation, and yet utterly changed by its inescapable femininity. Something yielding and inviting now, a sense of incompleteness ready to be made whole.

What was I thinking?

With an act of will, I rejected this false vision. I knew the way, I had done this once already, but despite that it proved harder this time. Like a clutch stuck in its bearings, it shifted only with difficulty.

But it did shift.

"How? Why?"

"Why?" he shrugged. "Because I can, mostly. Once I had tasted your wife's cooking, I knew that I must own the chef. Her culinary skills are simply delightful. She is delightful. In so many different ways."

"You bastard!"

I took a step forward, but an upraised hand stopped me in my tracks. There was no wall, no force barred my way, and yet I could not take a single step forward.

"As for you," he continued. "I merely find it an ironic and fitting redress for your vulgar threats. How? You must have guessed by now, my dear, that I am a world class magician."

"Stop calling me that," I said between gritted teeth. Which voice had I used? The normal one or the other? Which was which? It was growing hard to remember.

"I'll stop you," I said, voice shaking, breath coming in uncertain gasps. They felt wrong somehow.

A hollow threat, even to me. I couldn't even look him in the eyes anymore. Not after last time. Couldn't bear to remember what he made me feel. Look around the room, at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but Him. The walls, the bookcases, the rug.

The gun. It was still there, where I had dropped it.

"No, sweet flower, you will serve me."

So close, just reach down and grab it. Just in front of me, the metal cold in my hand. With one squeeze I could end this. Would it break the spell on Molly? The one on me? It must. My bare legs felt cold, even with the fireplace roaring. Bending over had flipped my skirt halfway up, exposing my silken panties. I smiled, coquettishly. Stooping made my decolletage plunge even further than normal. His Lordship would surely approve.

Duster in hand, I rose just high enough for a deep curtsy, blushing maidenly at His Lorship's appraisal.

This was wrong. So wrong. A force of will wrenched reality back to normal, back to the way it should be. Stooped over like an idiot, I nearly stumbled to the floor. What was the matter with me?

"Stop this," I said, forcing my arm up. The gun was in my hand, but my arm was so unsteady I could barely keep it pointed at him.

Everything felt wrong. Like I was stuffed into a suit three sizes too large. My breasts. I could feel them, or rather I could feel their sad absence. The flatness where they were supposed to swell was unnatural. Could this big, oafish thing I wore possibly be me? How could that please Him?

Wrong thoughts, dangerous. I checked to make sure that I was still a guy, and was somehow disappointed to still have a dick. Had to end this. Just pull the trigger and be done.

"I'll do it," I said, hesitating.

"Of course you shall. You will accept that you belong to me."

"Jamais!" I said, not truly believing it.

The temptation was there, for all that I wished to deny it. So little would be required on my part. Not even a force of will, just a moment of relaxation, an acceptance of what could be. Of what must be. I could allow it, become that lush, undeniably feminine being who lived only to serve. It was such a simple, comforting life. Already, I missed my full, inviting bosom. That form felt so natural, so right. I could scarcely remember what it was to be male.

"Please," I said, forcing myself back, "let me go."

"Let you go?" he laughed. "No more thoughts for your beloved Molly? I think I shall room the two of you together. You girls can trade gossip with one another, and think up new ways to please me. Shall I take her in front of you? What will you feel when I do, I wonder. Or shall I take you first, making you writhe in throes of womanhood while your so-called beloved watches. Both will happen in the fullness of time, but where to start?"

There should have been anger. Some echo of the outrage I was supposed to feel when he spoke of fucking my wife. Instead, his words stirred something else deep within, making my resolve waver. Thoughts of his body clouded my mind, visions of his manhood filling me until I could think of little else.

It made my pussy twinge.

"Commence avec moi, maitre," I blurted. Start with me.

Horrified by my reaction, I tried to force the thoughts away, but could not make them depart. I thought of Molly. A stray bit of memory. Of lying in bed last week, my arms around her naked body. Telling her that I loved her. Good times, before everything had gone wrong.

The memory was clear, but the emotions anything but. I could remember words of love, but not the emotion itself. Yesterday the thought of her lying with this man had enraged me, but now that rage was beyond reach. I pictured the two of them together, sweaty bodies entwined with desire as he made his way with her, and felt no wrongness, only a wish that I were in her pace.

I could be in her place.

The realization crashed over me. I had been resisting out of... what? Some misplaced sense of pride? All I needed to do was cease fighting and embrace my new self, the self that I truly wished to be. I could have that, I could have everything if only I gave myself to him. Absolutely nothing was keeping me from that which I desired, only my refusal to allow it.

How wonderful it felt to slip into my true form, the self I wished to be. My insides twisted as new thoughts and desires cemented into place, filling me with love and obedience to the wonderful man who had made me his. I could remember being that small, angry man, but that identity held little interest. Not next to what I had become. My body was lush, soft, and utterly ripe for the taking. Perfect in all of its abundant femininity. I loved everything about it. Something settled into place, and I knew then that it was complete. There was no going back from this, not even if I had wanted to.

But I didn't want to, and never would again. There was not one shade of regret. Only the soft, warm glow of devotion that surrounded me.

"Je te servirai," I said.

I will serve you.

Now and always.