7. Satine
"Sophie, darling, would you get me an Old Fashioned?"
"Oui, Monsieur."
It was Halloween. We were out with friends, pre-gaming for "Boos and Booze" - a haunted house party for adults with poor impulse control.
"Wow," Lottie looked stunned, "did she lose a bet or something?"
"Ha, something like that, yeah." Sophie was my sexy French maid for the evening, as penance for the Rob incident. "I'm just trying to enjoy it, while I have the chance."
"It's so weird," said Zara, "I don't think I've ever seen Sophie so… submissive." The word tore through me like a bullet. Too pointed. Did Sophie talk about this stuff with them?
"Better watch your back, Mark," said Lottie, "that one likes to hold a grudge."
"Heh…" I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
"Your cocktail, Monsieur."
"Seriously, girl, you need to stop," said Zara. "You're freaking me out!"
"Yeah, blink twice if Mark is making you be his sex slave," said Lottie.
Sophie looked at me, with that wicked smile. And winked.
This may have been a mistake.
Breakfast on Pluto
She behaved herself all evening, not once breaking character. Zara was right, it really was unsettling. And when we were all nice and smashed, we headed home. And I finally got my runner-up prize from Scrabble night.
"Monieur, please, it is my first time."
"Don't worry, darling, I'll be gentle…"
"Mon dieu, so big!"
"There's a good girl."
"Ah…!"
"You were… amazing…"
"Sleep tight, baby."
The next morning, Sophie was picking up the maid costume that had been drunkenly tossed on the floor. She was just kind of holding it up, staring at it, lost in thought. "Sweetie, get out of bed a second, I want to try something…"
I crawled out of bed. I could barely stand. "Last, urg…" the room was spinning, "last night was *yawn* was fun. The role play?"
"Yeah," she laughed, "I mean, we were both pretty drunk. But you just about managed."
Managed?
"Here, put this on…"
And how was she so bright and energetic?
Anyway, it was never going to fit. I managed to get the dress up over my hips, with some effort. But it was too tight to do up the zip in the back, and the skirt was barely long enough to cover my arse. But she was looking at me with a dumb grin, nodding, and muttering things like "yeah… this'll work."
I went back to bed. I was too hungover for whatever this was.
Birdcage
"I actually did a French exchange back in Year 8. That's why I 'par-lay fron-say' so well."
That was all well and good for her, "I was never much good at languages."
"It's just a bit of fun. It's not like you have to do an oral exam."
We were in the bath together. "Anyway, is this really necessary?"
Sophie was sat in my lap, shaving my legs. "Trust me, baby, when you feel the nylon against your silky smooth skin, you'll thank me."
"Okay… " I was rubbing her shoulders. I had to do something with my hands. "So, hey," she said she'd cut me if I tried to grab her boobs. "While we're here and, you know, naked…"
"Hehe, yeah I noticed 'little Mark' prodding me back there. But you have to let me shave your armpits first."
"Deal. But that razor's coming nowhere near 'little Mark'."
I guess she had a point. There was something to it. Like having my legs lightly stroked all over. My freshly shaved skin was so sensitive, it almost tingled. Feeling the elastic resistance, feeling the nylon sliding, caressing my skin with every step and flex. The garters, lightly squeezing around my thighs.
"Toldja so… Sucks we couldn't get heels in your size, though."
I can't say I was too disappointed. She was taking this a little too seriously. She'd already bought another maid outfit in a bigger size. It was still a little tight. Still scandalously short. I could at least do up the zip, but it didn't leave much space in the bust. Not that I had anything to fill it with.
"Ooh, can I paint your nails?"
The dress was a black, silky material, with a lacey white trim. A little apron was sewn to the front, and a ribbon around the waist tied into a big bow in the small of my back. A frilly underskirt spread out the skirt, giving the illusion of broader hips, and raised the hemline dangerously close to my arse.
"You know I'm not your dress-up doll… right?"
She had the wig from a couple of Halloweens earlier, when she'd dressed up as Harley Quinn (I was her Joker). It was cheap, and it had been sitting in the bottom of her wardrobe since then. It definitely needed a good brushing.
"You look good as a blonde."
But it was eerie, how big of a change it made. How much it helped to feminise me.
"You have lovely long eyelashes…" By then, I didn't even try to resist. I was her dolly, and she could do whatever she wanted with me. "Stop blinking!"
The make-up was bold. Dark eyes, my lips painted a familiar shade of red. She had tried to contour my face to look more feminine. In truth, the result bordered on drag. But there was something… something in the eyes.
Admittedly, I was never the most masculine man. But when it all came together, it was a little uncanny. Like looking at a version of myself from another reality. Familiar, and alien, and very slutty.
Even so, something about me seemed to give the game away; my shoulders, my nose? Not that it mattered. It's not like we were trying to convince anyone. It was just a bit of fun.
Burlesque
"Cherie?" She decided she was going to be French too.
"Oui, Monsieur?" I tried to soften my voice, to sound more feminine.
"Un glass d'eau, si vous plait?"
Dough?
"Water, Cherie."
She'd dressed in a suit, with her hair tied back. And she'd drawn herself a silly little mustache. After all, why should I have all the fun?
And she got plenty of fun from ordering me around - fetch me this, clean up that. All the while, she just sat on the sofa, idly scrolling on her phone. Occasionally she'd glance up, leering at me. A dirty grin. A look, like hunger.
My lacey thong was barely big enough to hold my dick. And when I bent over to pick something up for her, she gave a wolf-whistle at the flash of my bare arse. I felt so degraded. I felt uncomfortably aroused.
"Your water, monsieur."
"Ooh la la, qu'est-ce que c'est?" [What is this?]
She reached a hand under my skirt and ran her fingers along the erection hiding amongst the ruffles of the underskirts; my dick had broken free from the thong. "Tres grand!" she said in an exaggerated accent, "naughty naughty, mon cherie".
"Je regret," I said bashfully. "Je suis horny." She tried hard to not burst out laughing. So did I. I did warn her.
"C'est bon. What shall we do about zis?"
Bon Appetit
I got down on my knees.
She spread her legs, and unzipped her trousers, and from between her legs sprang… a penis? Pink flesh. Firm but flexible silicone. Veiny. Circumcised.
"Ouves vous."
I didn't know that one. She tapped my lips, "open, cherie."
It was so big. Bigger than my own. A little intimidating. And she wanted me to what… to suck it? To give her a blow job? She really was taking this too seriously. And why? What would she get out of that?
I opened my mouth as instructed. I licked my lips, and stuck my tongue out a little - inviting - in a way I'd see girls do in porn. Her hand on my head, she gently pulled me closer, guiding her cock into my hesitant mouth. It was still warm from her body heat, and smelled of her perfume.
It filled my mouth, and it wasn't even halfway in. The texture felt slightly rough. I ran my tongue over it, feeling the lumps of its veins, the arch of its glans. I felt it spring against my tongue, and I felt an urge to bite it (better not). My mouth felt dry. I tried to salivate, had to make it wet.
I wrapped my hands around the base of her cock. I pulled my teeth back from my lips, and I moved my head. Lightly sucking. Up and down like I'd seen in so much porn. Shallow a first, barely below its head. Her hand encouraged me, and I started to take her deeper, my movements more confident.
For her part, she reclined, her legs spread. She moved her hands behind her head like a parody, and performed deep masculine moans. She gave little encouragements like "tres bon" and "aah, mon dieu." And when I tried to take her as deep as I could, she gave an excited "sacre bleu!" which almost made me choke.
Her hands back on my head, she moved me faster. I moved my hands in time, stroking her cock as I sucked.
"Zis cannot be your first time, uh?"
I was in the zone. It was almost hypnotic. Like I believed I could actually make her--
"D'accord, suffit. Zat is enough."
When I pulled away, I saw the familiar trace of my lipstick - her lipstick - on her cock. She stood over me, taking a firm grip of her cock. She stroked it furiously, growling "yeah… oh fuck yeah…" her expression so serious, so focused. And then "open your mouth, open your mouth!".
I closed my eyes, and opened my mouth wide. She angled my head, and with a final grunt, I felt her orgasm splash all over my face. Water. Cold water at that. I wasn't amused. She'd ruined my make-up.
She lifted my chin to look up at her. "Tu sont magnifique." [You were magnificent]
I felt a strange pride at that. I tried to hide it from her. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gently dabbed away the water, with a caring smile.
Boys Don't Cry
"Mais voila! I am still 'ard."
She bent me over, my stomach rested on the sofa. I wrapped my arms around a cushion, and rested my chin on it. I… I was a little scared. She lifted my skirt, and slowly pulled down my thong. Was she going to…?
She put her hands on my arse, her grip firm. She pulled at my cheeks. I don't know if I… I felt her 'dick' push against me. Cool, and slick. I clenched reflexively. I don't think I…
She pushed harder, rocking back and forth. I was gripping the cushion tight. I buried my face in it. It was too much. I felt like I was being split in two, I…
"Arret…" my voice came meekly out of the cushion, "s'il vous plais."
"Pardon?"
I lifted my head, "jaune." [yellow]. I turned my body, lowering the skirt to cover myself, and sat up on the sofa. I looked her in the eyes, "I'm sorry. I just can't."
"That's okay, baby." Kindness, understanding. She was quiet for a second. "D'accord. But, you will 'ave a penalty, oui?"
"Oui…"
Bound
"How about a cassoulet?" She made me stay in costume while I cooked dinner.
"Oui, parfait!" [perfect]
Sophie had changed back into her normal clothes, washed away her silly mustache. So why was she still speaking French?
"Je sais. I can't seem to 'elp it! Per'aps if you kiss me en francais?"
"Mademoiselle! I didn't know you were into le femme."
"Tu silence." She patted her lap, "allons si."
I perched on her lap, and we kissed passionately, enjoying our bilingual game. And when we parted, she had a halo of red lipstick smeared around her mouth.
"The rain… in Spain… It worked!"
By George, she's an idiot.
"Thank you, baby… You've still got to wear the chastity cage, though."
Merde.