Sissy Maid Husband

 "Sissy maid husband"

by c.w. cobblestone

 I nervously adjusted my apron and fixed my cap. Swallowing hard, I politely

 knocked on the bedroom door. Then, I waited.

 

 After a few seconds, I heard my wife's voice: "Yeah, come on in."

 

 I took a deep breath and opened the door. I stepped into the master

 bedroom, feeling, as always, like an intruder. I nervously approached Cindy

 and her lover, Carl, who were sprawled lazily across the king-sized bed.

 

 Apprehensively, I curtsied to my masters and said in my sweetest maid's

 voice, "you rang, Mistress?"

 

 Carl held up his empty glass and tinkled the ice. "No, I rang, sissy," he

 said. "I'm ready for another lemonade over here."

 

 I immediately curtsied to Carl and blurted out my ubiquitous, "yes, sir."

 Then I stepped over to him and gently took the glass from his hand. He

 didn't take his eyes off the television as I curtsied to him a second time.

 

 Before I left, I curtsied to my wife and respectfully asked if she wanted

 anything to drink. Cindy pursed her lips for a second, then said, "nah."

 

 I again curtsied to my Mistress, then trotted out of the room as fast as my

 heels would allow me, intent on my mission of getting my wife's lover

 another drink.

 

 In less than 30 seconds, Carl had his ice-cold drink in his hand. He took a

 long, invigorating gulp, downing half the glass in one swallow. Carl let

 out a suppressed burp and handed the glass back to me.

 

 "Here, sissy, fill that up one more time, why don'tcha?" he said

 casually. I executed a quick curtsey, and once again, I daintily took the

 glass from my master.

 

 In less than 30 seconds, Carl had his ice-cold drink in his hand.

 

 As I turned to leave the bedroom, Cindy stopped me.

 

 "Hang on, sissy, I'm hungry," she said. "What's in the fridge?"

 

 I started to think about it, but Cindy cut me off. "Go look," she said.

 

 I minced downstairs and took inventory of the refrigerator's

 contents. Dinner came down to three choices: beef bourgonion, roast pork or

 grilled salmon.

 

 I trudged back up the steps and again knocked gently at the bedroom

 door. This time, Carl acknowledged my knock with a simple, "um-hmm."

 

 I felt like a child as I stood before my reclining wife and her lover,

 dutifully reporting the contents of the refrigerator.

 

 "Hmmm...I dunno," my wife said after I'd finished. "Pork sounds good. What

 do you think, honey?"

 

 Carl shrugged. "Hell, I don't know," he said. "Personally, I'd rather just

 order a pizza."

 

 Cindy smiled. "That sounds like a GREAT idea!" she said. Then she turned to

 me and said, "you heard him, sissy, call it in. Double cheese and

 mushrooms."

 

 "Heavy onions...and green peppers, too," Carl added.

 

 "Onions...yuck!" Cindy grimaced. "I hate onions."

 

 Carl playfully swatted at my wife's behind. "Girl, you make everything

 difficult, don't you?" Cindy squealed and reared back as if to slap her

 lover. "Don't get lippy with me, mister!" she giggled.

 

 Carl let out a dramatic sigh and pretended to be exasperated. "All right,

 all right, if you must be difficult about it," he said. "Okay, then, sissy,

 order half the pizza with mushrooms, and half the pizza with onions and

 green peppers."

 

 "Yes, sir." I bobbed a curtsey.

 

 As I picked up the bedroom phone to call in the order, Cindy said, "listen,

 sissy, I'm hungry. It'll be quicker if you run down and pick it up, instead

 of waiting for the delivery man. Papa Italy's is only on Front Street -

 that'll only take you about 20 minutes to walk."

 

 "Yes, mistress," I said through clenched teeth. I really didn't feel like

 walking over to the pizza place, but I just smiled like a good little slave

 and dialed the number.

 

 After I placed the order, I respectfully asked my masters if they wanted

 anything else before I left for the restaurant. Cindy looked at me with

 half-closed eyelids and said, "yeah, you know what? I want a Coke."

 

 "Yes, mistress." After I curtsied to her, I ran as fast as my heels would

 allow me.

 

 In less than 20 seconds my wife had her ice-cold drink in her hand.

 

 By the time I'd changed clothes and walked to the restaurant, the pizza was

 ready. Two years after my operation, I still felt funny being out in public

 as a girl, even though I was dressed casually in a pink shirt and girls'

 jeans. But my fears were unfounded; nobody gave me a second glance. Carl is

 one of the best plastic surgeons in Los Angeles, and he re-did my face to

 perfection - as far as anyone in the pizza parlor was concerned, I was just

 a waifish female college student, probably grabbing a quick pizza before

 cramming for a test.

 

 I hurried home as fast as I could. Luckily, my masters don't make me wear

 my heels when I go out, so I was able to walk without difficulty. On most

 errands, I'm allowed to wear a pink pair of tennis shoes. At first, I was

 embarrassed at how sissified the shoes were. But I grew to appreciate them,

 believe me!

 

 While Cindy and Carl lounged in bed and munched on their pizza, I wandered

 around the master bedroom, cleaning up after them. I grimaced as I picked a

 pair male underwear off the floor. There's nothing I hate more than

 scrubbing Carl's shit-stained BVD's by hand in the laundry sink!

 

 After all the clothes were picked up, I began dusting. At one point, when I

 was cleaning the television stand, Carl got upset with me.

 

 "Move, sissy!" he bellowed. "You're right in the goddamned way of the TV!"

 

 I literally jumped out of the way. "Yes, sir...sorry, sir!" was my

 breathless reply. It was, of course, ignored.

 

 I continued cleaning, making sure I was out of my masters' line of

 vision. I was standing in front of the dresser, polishing Cindy's perfume

 bottles when Carl called across the bedroom. "Hey, sissy, you want a

 piece?"

 

 I turned and looked at Carl, who was holding a small piece of pizza. It was

 the "shit slice" - mostly crust, and the toppings had all fell off - but my

 mouth watered. Treats like this were rare.

 

 "Yes, sir, thank you very much sir!" I blurted out, in a genuinely

 appreciative tone.

 

 I started to move toward Carl, when Cindy shook her head. "Oh, no!" she

 said. "I put you on a diet, sissy, remember? You need to lose 10 pounds so

 you can fit into your new corset."

 

 Carl shrugged and threw the piece down into the empty box. "Sorry, sissy,"

 he chuckled, not sounding the least bit sorry. "Your mistress says no!

 Throw it away, I guess."

 

 I wanted to cry, but instead I curtsied and forced a tight little

 smile. "Yes, sir."

 

 By this time, both Carl and Cindy had turned their attention back to the

 television. So I silently picked up the empty pizza box and turned to

 leave. Remembering my manners, I stopped and curtsied toward my reclining

 masters.

 

 "Uh...sir? Mistress? Is there anything you'd like before I start on the

 laundry?"

 

 Carl frowned and shook his head. For an instant, a cold chill ran through

 me when Carl frowned; it was obvious that I was bugging him while he was

 trying to watch his program.

 

 I turned toward my wife and nearly whispered, "Mistress?"

 

 Cindy waved her hand. "Nah," she said. "Go on, now, sissy, quit bothering

 us."

 

 I curtsied one last time, then left the master bedroom, a pizza box under

 one arm and a laundry basket under the other.

 

 Luckily, there wasn't much laundry. I hand-wash everything twice a week, so

 it doesn't pile up. Tomorrow, I knew, would be a big laundry day; Sundays

 are when I have to hand-wash all the silk sheets and pillowcases. That

 isn't so bad. But Cindy insists that I iron all the sheets, and that's a

 very difficult task.

 

 I don't know why they want the sheets ironed - they get wrinkled as soon as

 they've been laid on for a few minutes. But mine is not to question.

 

 I was almost finished with the laundry when I heard my wife call from

 upstairs: "Sissss-aaaaaaayyyyy!"

 

 Oh, no! She was using her perturbed voice! Something must be wrong, I was

 sure of it!

 

 I wiped my hands on my apron and rushed up the stairs. My mind was whirling

 a mile a minute. What could be wrong? Mistress didn't sound very happy when

 she called me.

 

 I knocked timidly on the bedroom door. My heart was pounding.

 

 "Come in!" Cindy called.

 

 I nearly fainted when I opened the door. Both Cindy and Carl were naked;

 Carl was standing near the bed, stroking his massive cock. Cindy was laying

 on the bed, her legs spread languidly.

 

 "Sissy, where is the lotion?" Cindy asked after I curtsied to her and

 Carl. "Find it - now!"

 

 I frantically looked around for the bottle of lotion. Luckily, I found it

 where it's supposed to be: In the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

 

 I started to hand the lotion to my wife, but Carl stopped me. He pointed to

 Cindy's ass.

 

 "Lube your mistress' butt up real good, now, sissy," he ordered. "I'm gonna

 get that ass!"

 

 I bobbed a curtsey to my master, and squirted a liberal amount of lotion

 into my palm. Then, with a beating heart, I gently began lubricating my

 wife's asshole. It isn't often I get the chance to touch Cindy's private

 parts, and I was flush with excitement.

 

 Carl noticed me blushing and chuckled. "Now, don't go getting all excited,

 sissy," he laughed. "It's only Saturday, and you've still got five days

 before Thursday."

 

 "Y-yes, sir," I said as sweetly as possible. I didn't need him to remind

 me: I'm only allowed to masturbate on Thursdays - if, that is, I've been

 totally obedient.

 

 When I was finished greasing up Cindy's butt, Carl pushed me out of the way

 and moved in behind her. He started rubbing his cock across her asshole,

 scooping up some of the lotion with his dick.

 

 "Hey, sissy, watch this," Carl said. Then he slowly began inserting his

 dick into my wife's ass. "Fits in there just perfect, don't it?"

 

 "Yes, sir."

 

 "Ooooooooowwwwwwww......ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhgoooooooooooooooooooodddddd!!"

 Cindy moaned, causing Carl to chuckle.

 

 "Do you think she likes it, sissy?" Carl asked me.

 

 "Y-yes, sir," I said.

 

 "I think you're right, sissy," he said, as he began increasing the tempo of

 his strokes. "I do believe you're right."

 

 I stood there in awe for a few minutes, watching this powerful man pleasure

 my wife in a way that I knew would never be possible for me. Cindy had a

 handful of the silk sheets and she kept her face in her pillow.

 

 By now, Carl had worked up quite a sweat. I could see the veins in his neck

 popping out from the strain. I was overwhelmed to be watching this hot,

 animal act - an act that was totally alien to me. It had been years since

 I'd had any kind of sex, other than masturbation. As Cindy often points

 out, who wants to have sex with a sissy?

 

 I was lost in my thoughts as I watched Carl pound my wife's ass. Suddenly,

 he looked up from his work and snarled at me.

 

 "What are you doing standing there, sissy?" he growled. "Get the hell out

 of here, you perverted little slut!"

 

 Cindy lifted her head from the pillow, her damp hair clinging to her

 forehead. "Yeah, get out of here, sissy," she said. "Little girls shouldn't

 be watching grown-ups while they fuck. Go scrub the kitchen floor or

 something."

 

 I bobbed a polite curtsey and said, "yes, Mistress." Then I quietly

 curtsied to Carl, and hightailed it out of there.