'Maid Service at the Phipps Estate', Snippet Two

Moving to the front door, a truck of good size pulls under the porte-cochere. I stand at the top steps, arms akimbo assuming the role of chatelaine, Nurse Eve standing to my side. From the truck exit two burly workers.

“From the clinic,” the driver and older of the two announces.

“Please bring the shipment into the house,” acknowledging.

Though secluded, I don’t want Maxine outdoors. Certainly not because of neighbors... none for over half a mile... but because the freedom I promised him will be quite limited. Liberated of the burdens of the role of masculinity which he could never fulfill, his new freedom... to serve and please women of authority... will be manifested within the confines of the vast Phipps mansion. It will be rare for her to again feel the sun’s rays.

The rear doors of the truck swing open. A tail gate folds down. The men push a wooden crate onto the hydraulic platform. I note they are careful, well aware of the contents of deliveries from Dr. Gehorchen and the staff. Jumping to the pavement, the older presses a button and the platform lowers to knee height. The crate is cubical, some three plus feet high, wide and long, surprisingly short considering the contents. Then they each grab an end and seem to effortlessly lift... again carefully.

I turn and lead to the mansion entrance, pushing open the double doors. Eve and the men follow into the nineteenth century foyer. It is of size, one envisioning a bevy of butlers and servants greeting dozens of guests for a formal dinner or other soiree.

I point, the men lower the box. At the top, in seeing the locking device which Dr. Gehorchen explained, I remove the cell phone from my pocket.

“We’ll need to return the box, ma’am. If you have the code we will open it and ah... release... ah... empty it for you.”

I swipe the phone. It alights. I go to my messages. Dr. Gehorchen has sent the code.

“1258,” I offer, the driver nodding and fidgeting with the gizmo at the top.

I hear a click and the man unfolds the top of the six sided cubical. He reaches within to retract a small package, handing it to me. I know it to be a month or more supply of that to be injected into Maxine’s cute little fanny, the calming chlordiazepoxide combined with estrogen and prolactin.

“These deliveries used to be more fun... for the younger guys,” the man becoming pedantic in addressing his assistant. “Before the coded locking system some of the boys would stop along the way open the box and get a little action... if you know what I mean,” glancing my way to ascertain any disapproval.

I simply shrug, hinting that to sully any of Maxine’s now supple openings is of little concern.

Top folded away, the man next works the sides, laying each to the carpet to expose in profile the doubled over form of a naked, feminized Maximilian Von Webring.

“With some of the guys... a blow job is a blow job... even if it’s from some pansy guy in make up and bangs. But no more, every delivery is now secured.”

As the man moves to the rear panel, I visually inspect.

Maxine is nude of course, and well tethered, despite being confined and immobile. Knees to her chest, thigh bands just above the knee connect to a short strap leading from right thigh, about the back of her neck to her left thigh. Very constricting, she is held in the decubitus position, wrists cuffed together above her upturned buttocks.

With the size and shape of the box, no one would suspect it contained a human form... naked, and well tethered.

“Now watch how I lower the last panels,” the drive again lecturing. “You may have to do this on some delivery.”

With that he reaches within, presses something and I hear the hiss of air.

“Inflatable penis gag,” the man explains. “For sure no more blow jobs,” added with a snicker.

With that he very slowly lowers the panel over Maxine’s head, hinged in being connected to the bottom panel. As his hands carefully guide, I note a sizable dildo slowly exits Maxine’s mouth. In being attached to the wooden panel, essentially Maxine’s head, mouth and throat have been made one with the box. 

“See, got to be careful. No gagging.”

Maxine, in obedient silence, licks her lips, the long interval of impaled mouth and throat coming to an end. Should I be surprised when the man next moves to the remaining upright panel and releases a second valve... more air hissing?

Yes, just as with Maxine’s mouth and throat a second inflatable dildo has filled her anal cavity for the hour or more journey from the clinic.       

“And no more of this either,” the driver crudely ramming his closed fist from his waist upwards in a gesture of sodomy.

As he slowly lowers the rear panel, sure enough a connected dildo slips from Maxine’s rectum, making an embarrassing plop as the bulbous tip comes into view.

“We’ll have to release the straps. As I said, need the box back. But we can restrain him... ah... her... any way you want.”

I just nod, smiling in seeing Maxine’s balls... probably more delight comes as they ring when motion is restored, the thigh straps and wrist cuffs removed, legs finally straightening.

“Welcome, Maxine.”

I see Eve staring as well. Maxine’s testicles... my testicles... dangling from a shriveled pouch of pink flesh. Ironically they hang from where they should be on the normal male... but doing so encased in Lucite with tiny bells announcing his neutering.

It brings a subtle glee to a woman like me... knowing such no longer function, masculinity terminated at my behest... and checkbook.

“To your knees, Maxine. I think you need to thank the gentlemen for freeing you. Hands behind your head... just as you’ve been taught.”

The last few weeks of Maxine’s stint at the clinic has involved much time in the fellatio room, perfecting not only tongue and lip skills, but a demanded regimen for the feminized male.

Maxine knows to crawl from the open crate, the folded down panels fanned out lying flat on the carpet, on two of which the inflatable dildos stand like flag poles.

“May I suck your penis sir,” the words so humble and polite, the voice seeming to be even softer and higher pitched than during my last visit.

The driver, of middle age, shakes his head.

“I don’t do that any more, girly boy. The wife... she expects attention when I get home. But Ray here is single,” the driver nodding to his cohort.

Maxine looks to me, so embarrassed. Yet her training... pounded and pounded into her head... dictates that for her utter subjugation is best... obedience... the need to please me as Master.

So I nod to this Ray worker, noting that he is already opening his zipper.

“Consider it to be a tip,” I flippantly suggest, looking to see Nurse Eve’s eyes aglow in rapt fascination.

Yes, I definitely have hired well.