Samantha casually looked at her watch, “Well it’s almost time for dinner Yvette, I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Please call me when dinner is ready, you can find the kitchen on your own.”

“But I can’t cook…” I objected. There was a sudden silence, as if the sound fell out of the room through the floor. Samantha turned around quick as a flash and stormed over to me. Instinctively I tried to back away from her but the heels were too much for me. She easily grabbed both of my thin wrists in one hand and dragged me, still stumbling in my heels over to her bed. There she sat, laid me over her knees, flipped up my skirts and began to spank me through my ruffled nylon panties.

“What did I say?” she screamed.

Smack. My rear stung from the first hit.

“Did I not specifically tell you to only speak in French?”

Smack smack. The pain was greater.

“I don’t know French!” I pleaded.

“I don’t care!” She roared.

Smack smack.

“For this weekend you are my French maid! You will do whatever I ask of you without question! You will curtsey when you enter my presence…”

Smack.

“You will curtsey when you leave my presence!”

Smack.

“You will only wear the clothes I tell you to wear!”

Smack.

“And you will never…”

Smack.

“Never…”

Smack.

“Speak in English! I am the mistress of this house. You will call me Madame!”


Smack.

“I only want to hear ‘Oui! Oui! Madame’ and ‘Non! Madame’ out of you unless I specifically command it! Do you understand?”
Smack.

“Yes!” I yelped.

Smack smack smack.

“Oui! Oui! Madame” I corrected, just hoping to stop the unbearable pain.

“Good…” she said pleasedly as she easily removed me from her lap and lay me on the bed. “I’ll leave you a few minutes to yourself Yvette, but please have dinner ready as soon as possible.” She said with a smile and headed downstairs. I lay there, crying. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just lay on that queen-sized bed crying, rubbing my sore bottom through lacey panties to take away the pain. I’m not sure how long I lay there, crying my eyes out. I cried because I was in pain. I cried because I was in this girl’s house, dressed like a woman and forced to be servant. Then I realized that I was crying, lying on a bed in women’s clothes and this made me cry even harder. Finally I got up, fearing another spanking if I failed to prepare dinner. I glanced in the full length mirror and saw myself. I was a tiny, 5’2” French Maid with a twenty three inch waist and stunning cleavage, my makeup was ruined by tears and I couldn’t help but walk in tiny, mincing steps due to the high heels. It was all I could do to stop myself from bursting into tears again.
It took me a long time to get down the stairs to the first floor, my inexperience in heels made me slow as is, but going down the stairs I found myself hugging the banister, fearing that I fall and land on my sore bottom. After finally making it down the stairs, I minced about the house until I finally found the kitchen. Searching through the only cook-book I could find I finally found a recipe that I could manage.
“Hmm… spaghetti with garlic and olive oil sauce, sounds do-able” I mumbled quietly to myself, glancing around to make sure the Madame was out of earshot, she’d spank me silly if she heard me speak in English this soon after she told me not to. I made the recipe for two; I figured I had to eat eventually as well. I found a silver tray in one of the cabinets, and placed one of the dishes on it along with the appropriate silverware before I carried it to the living room. Navigating the main hallway and its near insurmountable clutter in heels was difficult as is, but doing so while holding a tray of food was even harder. Every step had to be carefully placed and I often found myself having to take long steps so I could reach flat spaces in the hallway. These long steps forced me to stretch the muscles in my rear, the brief stinging that accompanied each of these steps reminding me of what Madame would do if I dropped her dinner.

The living room was the sort of thing found in movies. It had a huge fireplace, a leftover from before modern heating systems. The fireplace was surrounded by overstuffed chairs, because nobody had a large fireplace in their living room without surrounding it with overstuffed chairs. The walls were lined with books of every type one could imagine and they weren’t just for show, it was obvious that they had been read before. A large, decorative mirror hung on one of the walls. Madame was sitting in one of the chairs, reading. When she looked up at me I stared at her blankly for several seconds before I remembered and curtsied slightly, still holding the tray in both my hands.

“Ah Yvette, it’s dinner time then is it?” she asked, not even trying to hide how much she was enjoying this.

“Oui! Oui! Madame,” I replied hastily. I tottered over to her and as I was about to place the tray on a table next the chair she stopped me.

“Remember Yvette, when picking things up and putting them down around the house, bend at the waist first.” She advised, as if I had forgotten some lesson she had taught me long ago. I did so, bending at the waist to place the tray on the table, realizing that by only bending my waist the mistress had a clear view up my skirt. “Thank you Yvette, you may fix yourself something for dinner if you like. Please remember though that servants eat in the kitchen.”  She said as she pulled the table slightly closer to herself before she began eating.  As I turned around to leave I felt her hand slowly come up through my skirts and squeeze my rear. I turned around reflexively, almost falling over in the process, to look at her. She looked at me with a slight smirk before returning to her meal. I felt my face flush and since I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I curtsied before leaving hurriedly. As I navigated the maze of props and costumes I kept asking myself why I was blushing. This woman was more or less keeping me captive, a person in my situation isn’t supposed to blush. This question continued to plague me as I made my way into the kitchen and began to eat. At first I tried to sit down, but that hurt too much, so I decided to eat standing up. Of course by the time I was finished with my dinner, all that time standing in those vicious heels began to take its toll on my feet. The meal was good, in fact it was probably the best thing I had ever cooked, but that wasn’t saying much. I began to clean my dishes and I noticed that I had left a lipstick mark on the glass I had drunk from. I minced my way back into the living room to collect her plate and silverware; she would ask me to clean these things anyway. I told myself, so I might as well get it done now. When I entered the living room I found Madame talking on the phone. I curtseyed, still fearing the possibility of a second spanking.

“… yes dad. No I just finished eating dinner. I decided to spend a quiet night alone tonight.” She said, putting a slight emphasis on ‘alone’ that was directed towards me more than anyone else. As she cradled the phone receiver on her shoulder, she beckoned me closer with a single crooked finger. I minced closer. She leaned back in her chair, her conversation uninterrupted and pointed at her lap. I sat down on her lap, the stinging sensation in my buttocks still present but more or less subsided by now. I saw myself in the decorative mirror, even when sitting on her lap I was still shorter than her.

“No, I’m sorry dad, I forgot to water the garden, I’ll take care of it tomorrow…” She said, while her hand began to rub my smooth, hairless thigh. I sat stock still, not sure what to do. She cradled the phone on her shoulder again, wrapping her newly freed hand around me, while the other one continued to rub my thigh. I felt tiny wrapped in her arms, while she continued to speak with her father as if nothing was happening.

“What town are you in right now?” she asked with genuine enthusiasm, she also began to rub my thigh faster and her other hand began to play with one of my breasts. I tried to put up one of my hands to stop her, but the arm wrapped around me kept my arms pinned at my side. As I sat on this girl’s lap, dressed like a maid and with her idly toying with my breasts, I felt something stir in my stomach; I was nervous and worried but also very excited. When I realized this I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t, but that didn’t work, I could already feel myself getting an erection.

“… it’s good to hear from her. Tell her I said hi!” she exclaimed as the hand on my thigh began to crawl further up my leg, I could hear my skirts rustle as she worked her way closer to my crotch. When her hand touched my erection through my panties I almost yelped, but quickly stopped myself, knowing that there would be hell to pay if her father heard me over the phone. I tried to close my knees but this only served in making me look more feminine, and made her more persistent. She began to run the palm of her hand up and down of the crotch of my white nylon panties. I barely managed to suppress a moan as she did this. She continued to rub my crotch as she talked and I couldn’t help but enjoy it. I saw this pretty little maid in the mirror being fondled by her mistress and it aroused me further to know that I was that pretty little maid. I couldn’t even hear her talking on the phone anymore, all I heard was the rustling of my petticoat as she rubbed my crotch and my breathing getting faster and faster. It felt so good but undergoing this without making any noise was unbearable, but I had to tell myself what would happen if I made a noise. I bit my lip as I found myself about to release.

“… I love you too dad. Good bye” she said as she hung up the phone. Immediately she stood up so quickly that I nearly fell to the floor, but managed to awkwardly totter enough to maintain my balance.

“Well that was a delightful conversation Yvette.” Madame announced to me as she brushed off her black skirt. “My parents are staying with some cousins of ours in Vermont.” I stared at her, my erection still throbbing in my panties. “But I believe you’re here to pick up the dishes, aren’t you Yvette?”

“Oui! Oui! Madame” I said, mincing over to the table to pick up her dishes, bending over in the way she told me to. As I reached the doorway with the dishes she called to me.

“Oh Yvette!”

“Madame?” I asked, letting a note of expectancy slip into my voice.

“I think all this time in America is taking a toll on you. You’re voice needs to be lighter, and you’ve almost lost your accent. You almost sound like a boy!” she laughed, leering at me while she did so.

“Oui! Oui! Madame” I replied, my voice already sounding more feminine, before curtseying and leaving the room.