Service with a Smile
My parents are very wealthy although you would never suspect it if you were to observe me. I was a young lad of thirteen when my life took an abrupt change. Our family maid was a very lovely young French girl. I, having just gone through puberty found her, Aleece, to absolutely intrigue me. Her figure in particular attracted my attention. In spite of the time, the 1960s it was obvious she wore an outdated corset (for the last year I had developed an interest in corsets, a not uncommon practice). One day, when my parents were away and Aleece was shopping I decided to have a look at her wardrobe. Her armoire initially revealed an assortment of dainty undies. Then I found the mother lode, so to speak. The bottom drawer held an assortment of back-laced corsets. I carefully removed them, there were seven or eight, and laid them out on her bed. She sure believed in variety. There were short ones with tiny waists and incredibly long ones that had cups for her magnificent breasts and multiple suspenders ringing the bottom. They were all well reinforced with heavy metal stays. I wondered how a young girl could wear such uncomfortable appearing garments.
As I looked at them and fondled them curiosity got the best of me. My interest was about to become a fetish. I decided to find out what it felt like to wear one. I was about Aleeces size except that I was a bit on the heavy side. Quickly I removed my clothes. I selected a short one, wrapped it around my body and hooked the front. After a great deal of struggling I managed to get the laces reasonably tight. The garment stretched from my mid chest to half way down my hips. The pressure on my waist felt, nice. The corset pushed up flesh from my mid section and gave me small breasts that hung over the top edge of the corset. I decided however that I didnt care for the short one. I removed it and soon had a long corset in place. I finally had it laced reasonably tight. I reached down the top and pulled the excess flesh up into the bust cups. A couple of her panties stuffed into the cups gave me what looked like a nice pair. All this time my boyhood condition made it obvious that I liked to wear corsets. I finally managed to pull up a pair of her stockings and fasten them (with great difficulty) to the five suspenders that the corset had. The sensation was out of this world. My heart beat very fast indeed. As I prepared, towel in hand, to release the tension I heard the front door slam shut. Someone was back early. I hastily started to remove the corset. Before I finished Aleece entered her room. She stared in amazement at the sight of the young master standing in her room with her corset hanging on his body, the stockings still attached. Finally she smiled and asked, "What do we have here? It looks like Master Justin but he is dressed in a ladys corset."
I had expected anger. Instead, to my surprise, she spun me around and loosened the laces. She refastened the front hooks and proceeded to retighten the laces. "Since you want to wear a corset it must be laced properly." She continued tightening the laces until I thought I would split in two. I could scarcely breath. In spite of some pain I loved the feeling as the corset embraced my whole body from my armpits to my thighs. I knew I was hooked. I reveled in the sensation for a short time. Then she decided that I should become Ken again before my parents came home. As I left her room she kissed me on the cheek and whispered in a sultry voice, "We can do this again if you like." If I like? There was absolutely nothing I wanted more. In the ensuing days this became almost a ritual. As soon as my parents would leave the house Aleece would have me corseted. I soon was wearing her pretty maids uniform and high heels. Our dress up sessions always ended with Aleece relieving my condition. This continued for several months. As it did, my initial interest became a fetish and finally a way of life. As usual all good things come to an end. The ending to this one was tumultuous. One day my parents returned early just as Aleece was relieving me. Mum fainted. Father was furious. When the ruckus subsided a bit, Aleece was sacked and sent packing. I was grounded indefinitely. My parents, in a childish act of whatever ever, had the armoire that held the instruments of my delight taken out and burned. So ended a pleasurable period of my life.
My parents searched for a new maid. The only ones who applied were frumpy looking elderly ladies. My parents preferred young attractive maids in spite of the recent episode. Pretty maids impress friends and callers more than gruff, old ladies. Besides, mum was of the opinion the older women wouldnt be able to take the physical exertion required to maintain our home. Weeks went by and no acceptable applicants were found. The holidays were fast approaching and that meant parties. We usually had several for fathers business associates. Several neighborhood open houses were scheduled and mum had several parties arranged for her various ladies clubs and we still had no maid. There was no way mum could handle such a party load. As host and hostess my parents had to entertain the guests, not serve meals and libations. As the days drew closer they became frantic. Services offering temporary maids were booked months in advance. It was then that I noticed mum and father giving me strange glances and occasionally whispering between them. If I had known what they were thinking I would have been horrified.
One Saturday morning shortly after Halloween mum entered my room and told me to get dressed in nice clothes; she had to do some shopping and was reluctant to leave me home alone. I grudgingly did as told; not dreaming what the shopping was for or for whom. We drove to a nearby underground station, parked the car and boarded a train for London. We walked a few blocks and presently stood in front of a corset shop. Mum always wore a tight girdle so I assumed she was going in for a fitting. I was embarrassed to go in with her; a corset shop is not a great place for a boy to be seen. I sat down while mum went to the receptionists desk. I heard my name mentioned and was puzzled as to why it was necessary to even acknowledge my presence. I would very soon learn why. My embarrassment increased when I was invited to accompany mum into the fitting room. Upon entering I was instructed to stand behind a privacy screen and remove my clothes. I was handed a ladys slip and told to put it on. I protested but was silenced by a slap to my cheek. Sheepishly I emerged from behind the screen. Then it dawned on me; how could I have been so stupid? I was going to be fitted for a girdle or corset. I again protested, but with mixed emotions as the pleasant memories of my episodes with Aleece flashed through my young mind. Another slap quieted me down. The corsetiere wrapped the fitting corset around me. Within minutes a very long fitting corset confined my body as she tugged at the multiple sets of laces. Just as I was about to faint she tied them off and proceeded to take a series of measurements. All the while I was trying to rationalize what was taking place. All my problems (and delights) had started with a corset. The maid was sacked and I was grounded; yet here I was being fitted for a corset. Mum ordered three corsets, identical except for color, two nude and one black. She instructed the corsetiere to use enough stays to make it very confining and rigid. The fitting corset was finally removed and I returned to my boy clothes. The corsets were to be ready the following Saturday and we would return for a fitting.
As anticipated we retraced our steps to the corset shop. Within minutes I was laced into my corset. It was unbelievably tight and rigid. In spite of the discomfort I liked the sensations it aroused in me as I reflected once again on my memories of Aleece. The attendant then proceeded to have me sit down, no easy task, and rolled rose colored nylon stockings on my legs and fastened them to the five suspenders that adorned each side of the corset. The smooth feel of the nylons on my legs and the way they tugged on the suspenders as I walked was indescribable. After a few minutes the corsetiere untied the laces and proceeded to reduce my waist even more. "He has two inches of adjustment left. In a few days you can start reducing him a bit more each day until the laces meet. I couldnt imagine how I could possible be any smaller and survive, but survive I did over the next few weeks. I anticipated being uncorseted and resuming my male appearance for the trip home. When the corsetiere asked mum about removing it I was shocked to learn I would be wearing it home. Minutes later I walked out into the street as a weird looking boy. The waist of my trousers was wrinkled when my belt was drawn in to my new waist dimension. It was obvious even to an idiot that I was wearing a very strict corset. Even my walk was restricted to what I learned was called mincing, due to the restriction of my hips and upper legs. My boy socks were left off allowing the nylons to peek out with every step. I was soon to find out why.
In such state I was whisked into a ladys shoe shop. I blushed profusely as the clerks giggled while I was fitted with several pairs of black patent court shoes with heels up to five inches. Of course I could not even stand in the four and five inch ones. Fortunately I was spared the embarrassment of wearing the three inch ones out on the street. I was then led into a jewelry shop. As soon as I entered I again became the topic of the day. The clerks noticed my corset right away. They smiled when mum announced I wanted my ears pierced. I wasnt in the mood for a scene so I resigned myself to my fate. As soon as I sat in the chair my trouser legs hiked up displaying my nylons. After the piercing, mum took a pair of diamond earrings from her purse and had the girl place them in my ears. My face turned a bright red as she commented on how nice they looked on me. My tightly corseted appearance, earrings and odd walk were most embarrassing as I minced my way to the underground station. Upon reaching home I was ordered to put on the low heels and spend the rest of the day learning to walk in them. I was advised that training in the higher heels would follow shortly. I tried to fathom what all this was about. If it was punishment for my transgressions with Aleece why did they wait so long? The rest of the weekend was spent tightly corseted and heeled. I also wore the corset to bed; "To get used to it sooner" I was told. The first night was spent in short restless naps. After that I slept quit well except for my dreams of Aleece.
Monday morning I arose expecting to be released from my corset and prepared for school. Mum intercepted me and after my bath I was recorseted. Wearing one of her robes I went down for breakfast. I found the sight of my nylon covered legs stimulating as I sat down. As we ate I was informed that a special tutor had been hired and I would not be attending school. I was to be corseted full time indefinitely. The tutor was an elderly former school marm who obviously didnt follow the times and still wore corsets. I was doomed. A few days later, after my class session, Mum led me to Aleeces former room. It had been freshly repainted in a soft pink. The furnishings had been replaced by definitely feminine furniture. I was then informed that it was to be my new room. I wasnt too happy since it was so feminine and also much smaller than my old room. The look on Mums face told me I had no choice. Then she dropped the bomb. I was to remove my boy outer garments. I stood there in my corset, nylons and heels as she went to the closet and brought out one of Aleeces maid uniforms. "Your father and I decided that since you are the cause of our maid problems you are to be our new maid." I was stunned. So this was what the corsets were all about. I started to cry. Even as mum tried to comfort me she kept reminding me that it was all my fault. In a few minutes I was dressed in a frilly, white, frou frou petticoat and a short black dress. As I looked down I thought of Aleece. My nylons were replaced by black ones with lacey tops. Mum led me to a dressing table. My protests were in vain as she plucked my eyebrows into a fine line. She applied facial makeup, eye shadow, rouge and bright red lipstick. A medium length chestnut coloured wig was fitted followed by my maids cap. Mum stood back and admired her handiwork. A glance in the mirror told me that Justin had disappeared. I looked the perfect stereotype of a French maid. For some reason or other I rather liked what I saw. Then came the final straw. I was informed that from then on I would answer to the name Justine AND would address mum as madam and father as sir. I was to address the cook as maam. I was then apprised of my many duties. It was as thought I no longer had a family, I was just a maid in the manor house.
The next few days were spent learning how a maid acts. I finally graduated to five inch heels. Working around the house in spike heels was no easy task but I gradually got used to them. Whenever I took off my corset or walked in bare feet I felt lost. By the time the holiday season arrived I had become the perfect maid. I had come to love the feel of the short skirts, the hug of the corset and the mincing walk; a result of the heels and tight lacing. I found it exciting answering the door and greeting the callers, especially the young men. After all I looked the perfect girl and a pretty one at that. I found it particularly delightful teasing the tradesmen that called. It was amazing at the attention a girl receives when allowing a short skirt to hike up even higher to show ones suspenders. It was particularly exciting going grocery shopping in my uniform. The men were so attentive. I regretted that it was winter as my coat partially obscured the sight of my tiny corseted waist, of which I had become very proud. The coat fitted tightly enough to make people wonder however.
The afternoon of the first holiday party was spent getting all primped up for the evening. For the first time I was laced into my black corset. I just loved the way it looked and made my figure stand out. Actually I was dressed entirely in black (with exceptions). My black nylon covered legs looked terrific perched on my highest spike heels. My dress was shorter than usual and edged in white lace as was my cap (the exceptions). I knew I would have all eyes on me whenever I bent over and I intended to do a lot of bending I was so pleased with my appearance that I was fast forgetting that I was indeed a boy and family heir. I had become obsessed with being a pretty young lady, even prettier than Aleece.
Soon it was show time as the limousines arrived full of happy guests. The gentlemen were obviously taken with me. Some of the ladies were noticeably upset by the lingering glances of their husbands but not so much so that I lacked compliments on my appearance from the ladies. I heard many remarks about wherever did you get the lovely maid? No mention was made that I was indeed the son and no one could have possibly guessed my identity. I served dinner and was pleasantly surprised, and flattered, by the gropings I received as I served the male guests. Even one lady ran her hand over my corset in disbelief. Her smile told me she approved. I was certain all the men did. I really enjoyed serving the after dinner liqueurs. It afforded me innumerable opportunities to bend over and display my maidenly charms. In a few instances I could tell by trouser bulges that the men liked what they saw; pretty legs all the way up and shiny suspenders. By the end of the evening the male guests werent the only ones aroused. As they left for the evening I was again pleasantly shocked when several of the male guests thanked me with a kiss on the lips. To say merely that I enjoyed the feeling would be an understatement. I was rapidly becoming an incorrigible teenage girl.
I couldnt wait until the next party. I became increasingly bold. I was surprised that my parents, or more correctly employers, didnt chastise me for my conduct. I took delight in placing my derriere in a gentlemans face when I bent over to pour a drink. The holidays were winding down and I was saddened by the idea that the enjoyment I was having serving and teasing the male guests would soon end. The last event was the New Years Eve party. By midnight the guests were feeling no pain. As the clock struck the hour every one grabbed someone to kiss and I was not left out. These were for the most part not just friendly kisses. They were for real. I had more male tongues placed in my willing mouth than I could recount. I loved the feeling; it seemed the natural thing for a girl to do. A bit later as I was walking down one of the halls a handsome young man approached me. Unknown to my employers I had sampled a bit of brandy and was feeling happy. As the young man touched my arm I willingly fell into his arms. We embraced and kissed passionately for many minutes. Luckily I had worn a panty girdle for modesty. My condition was well concealed. His was not as I felt it press against my thigh. As a boy I should have been repulsed. I loved every minute of it. Soon I felt his hand on my thigh as he rubbed my nylon covered legs. That and the attention his other hand was paying to my corseted waist drove me to the edge. I finally recovered my senses (or did I lose them?) and drew away from him much to his disappointment. A similar incident repeated itself before the evening ended. I not only looked the stereotype French maid, I was acting like one and enjoying every minute of it.
Sadly the evening came to an end. The party season was over. As I prepared for bed I wondered what was in store for me. The next morning I expected Mum to have me dress in my male clothes. I went to the closet in my former bedroom and it was empty. Just then mum entered and asked, "what are you looking for? You have no boy clothes. Your father and I have decided that you make such a lovely maid that there is no point in trying to find one to replace you. You will continue as Justine until you are of age. By then you will probably forgotten that you were ever a boy and will want to wear pretty clothes instead of drab male clothes." I wanted to hug her as I replied, "I love being your maid and wearing my cute little dresses and feeling my body encased in my corset." And so it was. I was Justine the maid mincing about in my black miniskirts and heels. Even though I was just the maid I was the center of attraction at all the parties and events at the manor house. I readily accepted; no yearned for, the attentions I received from the male guests. Bit by bit my corsets were reduced until I now, at eighteen, have a twenty inch waist. Naturally all my uniforms are perfectly fitted to my waist.
From time to time I help out at neighbors and friends parties. They are all eager to have the lovely French maid in the short (very) black dresses attend to their guests. Frequently I am quietly asked to serve in other ways. These I decline since there is still enough male in me to question my sex. I do not mind having men feel me up, fondle my derriere and passionately kiss me. It seems like it goes with the territory. After all what male could resist the desire to fondle and kiss a lovely young girl laced to the nines and wearing short black dresses, black nylons and heels? I plan to stay on at the manor house for as long as they want me. One day it will be mine anyway. At that time I will become Justine, the lady of the manor. An eccentric lady who wears outdated corsets, short skirts and spike heels. I might just hire a young boy as my maid. Training him would be a memorable experience. He will come to love it as I did. Until then I will be Justine, the maid who turns all eyes as she goes to market and serves the guests.