a maid is made!

“Damn, Damn, Damn,” Jeff exclaimed as he threw the classified section of the morning paper on his bedroom floor. “To get a job today you gotta be a broad!”

Jeff Peatrie was an unemployed actor and had been out of work, any kind of work, for three months. He usually worked in Broadway musicals, but the musicians had been on strike for a long time, so that avenue had been cut offto him. Worse than that, the job situation for males in Manhattan was virtually non-existent.

“Secretaries, department store help, household cooks –that’s what they want. Maids … maids … that might be an idea. My girl friends tell me that I’m too pretty for their tastes, and there was the show that I developed that high, falsetto voice,” Jeff mused with his chin thoughtfully in his hand. “Falsies, a dress, a wig … make-up will be no problem with my show-biz training.”

Three hours later Jeff returned with an armload of packages. He went into the bedroom and lay them down on the bed, thinking as he removed a pair of opera-length white kid gloves from a slender box, “I hated to spend the money for these, but my arms are just too masculine. I’d be spotted in a second.”

He opened the packages and spread the contents on the bed. There was an extremely large white lace bra, and an equally large pair of falsies to fill it, an exquisite white leather corset to squeeze in his mid-section and thrust out his bottomcheeks, a skimpy pair of white nylon panties, a

black satin maid’s uniform with a frilly white cap and apron. Sheer black nylons and skyscraper-heeled black patent leather sling-back pumps completed the array that he spread out on his bed.

Jeff had been repulsed at the idea of dressing up in female clothing. But as he handled the silky garments, felt their wondrously smooth texture, his penis began to swell in his trousers as he thought about having these garments next to his skin.

“The corset’s going to be the toughest, I’d better start with that,” he mused as he stripped quickly, startled to see his penis ramrod-stiff and swaying ponderously to and fro in front of him. “Oh, you like the idea, do you, Buster?” he laughed.

Fortunately the corset was multi-boned, so it stood up by itself as Jeff wrapped it around his waist. Lacing proved very difficult. He just couldn’t find the eyelets with the rawhide lace. He solved this by standing with his back to a mirror. It was difficult to exert the proper amount of pressure with his arms awkwardly behind his back, but Jeff was strong and somehow he managed it, little chilis coursing up and down his spine at the wonderful sensation of the fine leather on his bare flesh.

With the greatest difficulty he managed a bow at the top, and then he stepped back from the mirror to survey the result.

“My God, if it wasn’t for old Buster wagging back and forth with approval, I’d take you for a girl already,” he grinned, for the squeezing qualities of the corset had given him an hour-glass shape. He knew that the addition of falsies and bra would make him sensational.

There was one package that he hadn’t opened, and he took this into the bathroom. He took out a short, black wig, and some make-up paraphernalia. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he painted his lips richly, going over his own outline and creating a Cupid’s bow effect. Expertly he added some light blue eye shadow, then brushed mascara on his lashes. Finally he rubbed some rouge into his cheeks briskly. When he added the close-fitting wig, Jeff Peatrie had been transformed into a ravishing woman.

“If I can keep from getting a hard on, I’U never be spotted,” he chuckled as he returned to the bedroom and began the difficult task of tugging on the long white kid gloves.

He had noticed how women work each finger individually into a glove before tugging the remaining portion over their arms, so he copied them and it worked beautifully. Then it was the pair of white nylon panties’ turn. Immediately he realized that he should have bought a larger pair. These were not designed to contain the bulk of a man’s genitals, especially those in the swollen state of Jeff’s. It was an impossible task. He let them snap shut over his testicles, and he chuckled at the erotic effect of his rigid manhood swaying over his panty-clad testicles.

A Maid is Made

Blood coursed hotly through his veins, and his pulse raced as he tugged on the dusky nylon stockings. The taut effect of the tissue-thin fabric on his legs was just as sensational to him as the tightness of his corset and gloves, and his erect penis beat the air with renewed vigor.
He drew down the elasticised garter straps and clipped them to the tops of the hose, they in turn stretching the sheer nylons upwards into inverted V’s. The sleek black nylons had made his legs shapely, devastating, completely feminine, and when he slipped the sling-back pumps on his feet, the six inch heels lengthened his legs, making them even more sensational.

Then Jeff turned his attention to the bra. When it was on the cups hung limply on his chest, but the falsies soon solved this problem. He practised walking in the unfamiliar stilt-heels. It was awkward at first, forcing him to walk in little mincing steps, but after fifteen minutes of walking around his bedroom, he had mastered the art sufficiently to venture forth.

The black satin maid’s uniform fitted his now completely feminine body like wet tissue paper. Putting the white cap and apron into a purse that he had purchased, Jeff left his apartment, ready as he ever would be … for action. What kind of action he couldn’t imagine.

Claire Vantassel was in a black mood. Her advertisement in the Times for a personal maid had gone unanswered for three days. “Times certainly have changed. Nowdays a girl would rather go on unemployment or relief before she’d be a personal maid to anyone,” she thought as she stormed back and forth in her bedroom, her floor-length black lace negligee flowing behind her, her huge breasts jiggling enticingly in the confines of her matching lace black longline bra.

She wouldn’t have been quite so upset if she had known that at that moment someone was approaching her posh apartment house in the east eighties, coming to apply for the job.

On the sidewalk outside, Jeff was getting a charge out of the effect he was having on the male onlookers as he passed by, his legs flashing in their sheathing of black nylon as they reflected the rays of the mid-day sun, the big, falsie-stuffed bra thrusting arrogantly at the front of his high-necked uniform. He almost stopped traffic. Cabbies honked their horns, truck drivers whistled.

As he approached a building under construction, Jeff noticed a group of hard-hats sitting along a high wood fence that ran along the sidwalk, eating their lunch. His tendency was to cross the street and avoid trouble, but he decided to continue on past them. If anyone could tell he was a fraud, it would be a group of close-inspecting, horny hard-hats.

A Maid is Made

Men stopped chewing, their mouths dropped open, as Jeff swivel-hipped his way by them, his spike-heels clicking on the sidewalk. A handsome, muscular blond worker rose and as Jeff passed by he pinched his rump, grinning, “How about it, baby? Ya got a date tonight?” Jeff turned and lowered his right fist almost to the sidewalk, then with all of the power in his strong arm he smashed the impudent worker on the point of his jaw, with an uppercut sending him flying into the board fence, where he crashed down in a heap, unconscious. The workers on that particular site were to talk of nothing else for the next few weeks other than the broad with the unbelievable punch.

Claire Vantassel was quite impressed with the lovely young woman who applied for the job. Perhaps she was a bit too lovely, a bit too sexually appealing. After all, she had a husband, and he was all male. She had better keep on eye on him. She had introduced herself as Bobette, and she had a delightful French accent. A bit throaty perhaps, but after all hadn’t every French chanteuse she had ever heard been on the throaty side?

To Jeff’s horror he found his manhood rising to a whopping erection as he drank in Mrs. Van-tassel’s incredible pulchritude, so devastatingly revealed by her close-fitting, black-lace negligee, black mesh stockings and long-line bra, her garter straps deliciously framing a massive black pelt that ran upwards almost to her navel.

Quickly he damped his purse over his groin.

She offered him a chair, and he sat down, his legs spread, his purse held firmly in his lap, for if he hadn’t it would have been dancing all over the place.

“Your duties actually will be very simple,” Mrs. Vantassel was saying. “You’11 tend to my wardrobe, see that everything is clean and pressed at all times. When I rise in the mornings I will tell you what I intend to wear.

You will lay it out on my bed and then assist me with my bath. Then you will help me dress.”
Jeff’s knees grew weak. He had to apply additional pressure on the purse or it would have flown to the ceiling.

The prospect of bathing this ravishing blonde creature, then dressing her, was a bit too much for him to take all at once.

Suddenly Jeff’s new employer took a pack of cigarettes off of her dressing table and tossed it into his lap, saying, “Give me a cigarette and light it, please.”

Jeff brought his knees together and caught the pack of cigarettes, horrified because he knew that in order to light her cigarette in no way could he hold the purse over his raging boner at the same time. He fumbled in his purse for some matches. When he found one and looked up, he was delighted to find that she was standing directly in front of him, her face almost obscured by her enormous, jutting breasts. He wouldn’t have to rise, so he was safe. He handed her a cigarette, and he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking as he struck a match and offered her a light.

Female-like, she cupped the back of his quivering hand, excitement, racing through him at the delightful contact, her talon-like, brilliantly-painted nails, the type that only a woman of leisure could nurture and grow, resting like a cat’s claws on the back of his hand.

In the privacy of the room that had been set aside for him, Jeff did a lot of thinking that night. If a simple little thing like the touch of her hand on his would cause him to almost blow his mind, he would certainly pass out when he attempted to bathe and dress this awesome-busted woman. His penis would prove a constant problem. He couldn’t carry his purse with him as he performed his duties. The apron would help. It was small but it was frilly and fluffy. It just might do the job.

Other thoughts were bothering him. He liked the feeling of the feminine garments on his body. Walking along the street he had loved the tautness of his hose and garter straps, the way the straps tightened, stretching his stockings to the bursting point, then loosened with his steps. He was thrilled by the sensation of the cold garter clasps as they dug into his thigh. He even liked the constricting feeling of his corset and gloves. Jeff had heard much about transvestites and had always been disgusted at the thought of them … was he becoming one? The following morning, Jeff was startled to find that he just couldn’t wait to get into the array of garments that hung neatly over a chair. He managed the corset easier this time. He lingered over his stockings, literally caressing them upwards over his legs, excitedly attaching the garter clasps. Then he ran his hands over his silky limbs, marveling at the sensation of the ivory-smooth nylon, as thrilled as though he were handling a girl’s legs rather than his own. In short, Jeff was a very confused young man when he approached his employer’s bedroom.
Mrs. Vantassel was awake, stretching, as Jeff carefully opened the door.

“Pour my bath, Bobette. Make it a bubble bath. You’ll find the bottle in the medicine cabinet.”
“Oui, Madame,” Jeff replied in his girlish voice as he went into the master bath and turned on the water, getting the bubble bath liquid from the medicine closet and pouring some into the rapidly filling tub. He turned and almost collapsed on the spot as he saw his ravishing employer appraoching, completely naked, her bare feet padding on the thick shag rug, her gigantic breasts swaying heavily back and forth like two goatskin bags filled with milk, her enormous aureoles and nipples like twin beacons in a storm.

Jeff had an instant erection, but the soft folds of his apron disguised the fact nicely. He breathed a sigh of relief as his mistress settled her awesome assortment of ripe curves into the water. To his utter amazement her great teats floated on the water in front of her, bobbing about in the bubbles like twin beach bails in a frothy surf.

“I-is eet too hot, Madame?” queried Jeff as he had all he could do to resist the temptation to take one of those great, milky globes in his hands and smother it with frantic kisses.

“No, it’s just the way I like it, Bobette. Wash my back for me, please,” she replied sweetly, her gigantic globes bobbing about madly now as she scooped some soapy water on them.

She leaned forward as Jeff began to wash her back with the cloth, her breasts seemingly detached and apart from her as they bobbed further in front of her, the aureoles and nipples a brilliant red and glistening from their sudsy coating.

“Do my breasts for me now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Vantassel smiled when he had finished her back, leaning against the back of the tub now, her great teats riding higher in the sudsy water now.
Jeff’s manhood began to thump against the side of the tub as he hesitated for a moment. Dare he pick one of those enticing morsels up in order to wash it properly? It would seem the thing to do.

Boldly, Jeff slid his right hand beneath a massive globe and hoisted it out of the water, his hand almost disappearing from sight in its pillowing softness. It was tremendously heavy, like a basketball filled with water, as he meticulously washed the upper portion, then repeated the process with its mate.

Later, Jeff was in the bedroom, going through the delicious process of dressing his Mistress. First he had pulled on her stockings, spending much more time than was necessary to accomplish the delightful task. She had chosen a black leather corset with a demi-bra that served to merely cup the undersides of her enormous gourds and shape them upwards and out. The corset he had managed, the laces tied in a bow at the back. Now he was standing behind her attempting to stuff her swollen breasts into their cups. No apron could disguise the boner he now possessed, but fortunately her back was to him.

Suddenly to his horror she thrust her rump backwards and wriggled it against his hard on, forcing it into her ass-cleavage, giggling, “My goodness, but you have a big erection for me this morning … young man.” “Y-Young man?”

“Yes, I’ve known all along,” she smiled wickedly, spinning around and lowering herself to her knees and fumbling for his organ.

“S-Since when?”

“Since you sat down in the chair yesterday.” She inserted her hand into his panties, searching for the erection she knew was there.

“Y-You saw my erection?”

“Not at all. A woman sits with her legs together, or crossed, never with them wide apart.” She had his manhood out now, stroking the taut flesh back and forth easily, licking her full, lips till they shown wickedly.

A Maid is Made

“A … A simple thing like that gave me away?” “Not entirely. I was only suspicious. Did you ever read Huckleberry Finn?”

“I … I think so.”

“Remember the part where Aunt Fanny dropped something into Huck’s lap when he was dressed as a girl, and rather than spreading his legs to catch it as a woman would who is accustomed to wearing a skirt, he gripped it with his knees?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, you did the same thing with the pack of cigarettes.” The astute Mrs. Vantassel opened her luscious, carmine-laden lips wide apart and swooped forward like a vulture after its prey.


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This sissy is finding this site to be more and more exciting, stimulating, enlightening and educational with each visit. This sissy is just discovering the value in contacting other members and discussing concerns and insights. This site is doing more… Read more “barbie”

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victoria nicole

i would do anything if this could Happen to me


Good retro story. This sissy as a girl in her brain and soul from early childhood never sat with the spread legs. She always considered it humbly and dissapointed. And she never caught a ball by the knees. Even by hands with spreaing legs in the width of her shoulders. It’s in her blood from the birth.

sissy courtney

Can this sissy be your maid? Hehe!