'Maid Service at the Phipps Estate', Snippet Four

This will be the final snippet. Look for 'To Reign at the Phipps Estate', possibly next week.


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I lounge about in a flimsy bathrobe, feeling decadent in sipping a morning Mimosa. Having completed reading the paper I now work on the crossword puzzle, listening to Maxine’s balls chime as she cleans the house. A curious way of assuring her efforts, for no ringing means motion has stopped. No motion, no labor. No labor and I call to Eve to have her caned.

After a two days, Maxine knows to keep herself busy, instantly reporting to me when a task is completed.

And sure enough, as I try to conjure a clue, 23 down, seven letter for communication, beginning with the letter ‘M’, the bells rhythmically tingle to suggest Maxine approaches.

“The dining room is clean, Miss Taylor. May I make you another Mimosa?”

As my arm drops, crossword puzzle pushed aside, my robe flips open, partially exposing my breasts. Maxine stares covetously. The look formerly would be considered libidinous. But with testosterone decimated, endocrine system brimming with estrogen, instead it is a look of envy, Maxine’s male glands remaining flat, her perky nipples appearing to be two cherries rolling about on a board.

I do believe she’d like to have the well rounded, fleshy globes of a real woman.

“In a bit, Maxine. Come here.”

As I have trained her, in approaching quite proximate, hands go to the back of her page boy, feet parting. Maxine knows I like to toy with her altered bits... in a way celebrating my triumph. Indeed, as my hand reaches out, she presents herself, ceding to me. I toy with an emaciated penis, shriveled with many months of female injected hormones.

She smiles, the nerve endings remaining vibrant... but the sensation useless for any ultimate male pleasure. That is forever gone. Still, with traces of slick male essence oozing, there is evidence of distant joy. Perhaps more psychological than physical... abdicating her once proud maleness to a woman in charge brings arousal... but not the arousal of an intact male.

“Another Mimosa later, Maxine.”

“May have clothing... covering?” the pleading voice so piteous.

“No, Maxine. It is best that you be nude... always. I insist that you exhibit yourself... your transformation. But I may have you wear ribbons for me,” my fingers going to nipples seeming to be begging for attention.

I flick. The puffy protrusions instantly harden, so nicely responsive to a controlling woman’s touch. Maxine blushes, embarrassed in seeing my enjoyment.

“Pink or blue, Maxine. I’ll have Nurse Eve tie up these cute little things in a nice bow.”

With the thought, Maxine smiles like a little girl.

“Blue please, Miss Taylor,” the obeisance of her concurrence notable.   

I make a mental note to begin breast treatment. I think she would like to be suckled. Did I purchase a breast pump? So many items assembled to ensure Maxine’s degradation.

“And how do you feel being anally opened? Bit of a thrill for that neglected prostate of yours.”     
“It’s... it’s... big, Miss Taylor.”

“And will get bigger. I’m sure your Nurse Eve showed you the collection I’ve procured. You weren’t fully opened at the clinic. I told Dr. Gehorchen that I wanted to do that. It’s... well... a thing with a woman like me,” my explanation vague as intended.  “Now tidy up the foyer and the parlor.”

My hand retreats from her penis. I hold up my fingers, Maxine obediently leans forth, mouth opening, licking away the traces of prostatic fluid. Then I give those little girl buttocks a firm swat, the pain heightened by the lasting welts of Eve’s latest caning. She squeals. When she turns to prance to the foyer, bells chiming, seemingly gladdened by my attention, I spy the flanged end of the impaling anal insertion... long and bulbous. For some reason it makes me feel good, the submission of my prettified husband utmost and constant.

Back to the crossword, 23 down... seven letters beginning with the letter ‘M’... ah... ‘missive’. With that the puzzle seems to melt. Augmenting my self satisfaction in completing is the tolling of the bells donned by my subservient new maid. Such an empowering sound.