© 2002 Couture

After I'd finished my morning laps in the pool, I dried off, walked inside, tossed my towel on the arm of the sofa and proceeded to make myself a healthy shake.

Sophie, the maid, walked in tisking to herself and eyeing me dubiously, as she picked up my towel, "Ça alors, il ne ramasse jamais, celui-la," she muttered in her heavily accented voice.

I used to wonder what she was saying. Then one day I looked up some of the words in an English to French dictionary. It said something about filthy little thing. After that, I didn't dare to translate anything again.

Hell, she should be thankful there were things to pick up. It was job security. We all had our role in life. She was the maid. Her job was to pick things up after people. I was the kept man. I lived a life of leisure, sure, but I had a job to do too - keeping the lady of the house happy.

She was the servant around here, not me, but for some reason I always felt I had something to prove to her. Maybe it was due to the vague look of amusement she always seemed to have when she looked at me. It never failed to make me feel self-conscious. I inhaled, sucking in my stomach and sticking my chest out, as I walked over and took the towel out of Sophie's hands.

She giggled behind her hand, making me feel suddenly very self conscious at my obvious display. "Non, Monsieur," She held up a pinky finger for emphasis. "P'tite bite!"

I blushed all the way down to my toes and what I had that wasn't shrunk from the cold water of the pool, shriveled up even more. Damn these trunks! Why did Diane always buy me these Speedos instead of regular trunks?

I wrapped the towel around my waist, to preserve what was left of my dignity and masculinity.

"Oui, Mademoiselle," I heard her giggle as I hurried from the room.

I couldn't believe my ears. Maybe the French joked so bluntly, but it just wasn't done here or maybe she didn't think I could understand what she said. My ears burned with humiliation and I couldn't bear to face her for the rest of the day. I stayed well away from Sophie until Diane got home. When was able to get her alone, I asked her about the status of Sophie's employment. Maybe there was an easy solution for this - a new maid.

However, Diane didn't want to let her go. She caught our former maid stealing some of her jewelry and that was something Diane didn't abide by. She had no use for liars and thieves, and the former maid proved herself to be the latter. She was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but as unforgiving as Diane could be at times, her loyalty ran just as strong. There was no way she would let Sophie go, not unless I could prove she was stealing or lying.

My only hope was to get her to leave on her own.

If Sophie thought I was a messy 'P'tite bite" before, she would see just how messy a "P'tite bite" I could really be. I stopped picking up anything behind me. Everything I touched, I left disorganized. I pissed on the toilet lid, left whiskers in the sink, left food on the sofa and sections of the morning paper in different places around the house. It was like a little Easter egg hunt of things to clean up, courtesy of me.

To my surprise, Sophie was unfazed, and almost seemed to relish it in fact. She trotted along politely behind me, tisking all the while, as she picked everything up that I had messed up. "Si malpropre," she giggled.

Hell, I seemed to be working harder to mess up, than she was to clean up. I was quickly coming to the end of my rope and missing out on valuable golf time. Instead of getting better, they were getting worse.

I went outside for a swim, to clear my head and to come up with a new solution. I couldn't think of anything except maybe to try the direct approach. That's what I'd do. Somehow, I would communicate to Sophie that I wanted her to take a more respectful tone when speaking with me. However, with her limited English and condescending attitude, I didn't relish the opportunity. So, I stayed outside and sunbathed, enjoying the solitude and avoiding the task as long as possible.

I dozed for awhile and was awakened with a start by a cold sensation on my chest. Startled, I opened my eyes to see Sophie, squirting sun block on my chest and rubbing it in.

"Vous ne voulez pas attrapez un coup de soleil, non?"

I couldn't understand a word she said, but I did need the sunscreen and her hands felt good. She could be nice at times, a real gem of a maid. Too bad she had the bad habit of her little pet names for me and amused attitude. I decided it was as good a time as any to talk to her about the problem I was having.

"Sophie, I need to talk to you," I began, as she continued to spread the lotion over my body. "I like you, but I just can't deal with the pet names and the blunt familiarity you show toward me. I looked up some of the things you said and... it's-it's unprofessional."

She continued to look at me with the same knowing grin, still working the lotion into my skin. "Je ne comprende pas."

Damn, this was going to be harder than I thought. I was going to have to break it down for her like a two year old.

I pointed at her. "Sophie."

I pointed to myself. "Trevor."

I shook my head. "Not "P'tite bite". Understand?"

"Oui," she said, her face brightened knowingly. She understood!

However, my sense of satisfaction ended the moment her hand darted beneath my Speedo's and grasped my cock. "P'tite bite!" she giggled.

"Sophie!" I grabbed her hand to pull it free, but there was no breaking her vice-like grip... and when she started to massage it, I found I didn't want to.

This was bad. There was one thing I learned from my experience of being a kept man - you didn't fuck around. Ever. If you did, you didn't do it with her acquaintances and you sure as hell didn't do it with the help. But for some reason, I couldn't stop.

Sophie reached up, closed my eyes with her free hand, while her other leisurely caressed me. She handled me expertly. Usually, I was always in control with my women, even when they thought they were, but not with Sophie. The little wench was amazing at making me do things I wouldn't have dreamed of in a million years.

She pinched my slick nipples until I was moaning aloud from just the promise of her touch. Not happy with that, she placed my hands on my chest and kept at it until I was pinching and pulling my own nipples. "Bon, c'est ça, mon petit cheri," she cooed.

Next, she started to spread my legs. When I realized how I must look, there on the lounge chair with my legs spread, pulling on my nipples, I was flooded with humiliation. I quickly snapped my legs closed and pulled my hands off my chest. There was no way I was going to let her do this to me. No way in hell, no matter how good it felt.

"Non!" Her hand stopped its ministrations, and my dick throbbed with futilely in her hand. She placed my hands back on my chest. At that moment, I knew I would have no release, until I did what she wanted.

I acquiesced. Not slightly, or halfway, but all the way. Soon, she had me with my fingers tugging my nipples, legs spread painfully wide, moaning and squirming like a ten-dollar whore, all in order to feel her touch - the feel of her lotion slick hands sliding up and down my cock. She brought me to the edge of orgasm and then stopped so abruptly I thought I would scream.

She pointed to herself. "Sophie."

Then to me, "P'tite bite."

Then back to her self. She looked at me questioningly.

"Sophie," I said and I was rewarded by a comforting squeeze.

She pointed back to me. "Trevor," I said. No squeeze.

She pointed at me again. This time I called myself 'P'tite bite', even though I knew I would be P'tite bite from then on. She kept it up, eventually I was referring to her as Mademoiselle Sophie and myself and 'Mademoiselle's petite fille'. I didn't know French, but even without the dictionary, I got the gist of what I was saying. I was either her little horsie or her little girl. Either prospect didn't thrill me.

Happy with the results, she rewarded me by massaging my cock. Not masturbating me, as you would expect. Instead of wrapping her fingers around me and pumping, she rubbed up and down at the seam on the underside of my cock - treating it as if it were a pussy. Yes, that must have been what I called myself. Her little girl and she was treating me as such.

With her free hand, she wormed a finger in my ass. Yes, she was definitely treating me as such. I tried to hold back, but the combination of the finger in my arse and the rubbing on my cock was too much for me.

I came instantly, my ass clenching her probing finger, as I squirted jet after jet of hot cum in my bathing suit.

When she brought her hands from beneath my suit, her fingers glistened with my cum. "Tu es un salot toi," she said, wrinkling her face in disgust. "Nettoye-moi ça."

I got the gist of what she wanted. Using my wet towel, I cleaned her hands.

She got up and crooked a finger at me. "Viens," she said, and began to walk away. Maybe it was just me, but it looked like her ass swished a little further and she walked a little taller than before.

I got up and followed her in the house. I knew without a doubt that things had just changed around the house. Position had been reversed and there would be no going back to the way things were before. I wondered how long I had, before I had to find another rich woman to take care of me.

I followed Sophie to the bathroom. She ran me a bath, added scented oil to the water, took off my bathing suit and guided me in. She bathed me, not letting me so much as lift a finger. This kind of pampering I could get used to. She even shaved me, which was nice. I usually kept myself pretty well shaved to show off my cut body, but she went even further than I usually did. I tried to protest, but she grabbed my balls and gave a not so playful squeeze. I got the message.

When I left the tub, I was totally smooth from the neck down. Unbelievable! How could I let her do that?

She dried me and covered me one of Diane's silk robes. It was far too short for me, not even covering the cheeks of my ass. "Sophie, I can't wear this."

She just looked at me quizzically. She didn't understand. I pointed down at my cock, dangling down below the short robe.

"Oui!" She nodded emphatically, and left the bathroom. When she returned it was not with a longer robe, but a small pair of delicate pink panties.

I tried not to let her put them on me, but she was insistent and somehow she was able to shatter my resistance with a look and a word. Afterwards, she combed out my long hair. I would have been horrified by what she was doing to me, had she not been so happy when doing it. She left again, and I tried to follow, but she just put her hand to my chest.

"Non!" I tried again, but she pushed harder this time. "Non!"

It was clear she wanted me to wait, so I did. When she returned this time, her arms were full of cleaning supplies. She put on a pair of rubber gloves and handed me the other pair. I figured she wanted me to help her clean the bathroom. After all that she had done for me, what could it hurt?

She squirted some cleanser on the tub and started scrubbing. She handed me the scouring pad and pointed at the tub. I followed her lead, but evidently not well enough.

"Non, comme ça!" She snatched it away, showed me again, and handed it back. We did this several times, until she was satisfied with the job I was doing. She moved behind me, rubbing my cock through my panties. Eventually, she was doing less and less of the work, while I found myself doing more and more.

Where before she would show me again when I did something wrong, now she would spank me until I got it right. It was a struggle to figure out exactly what I was doing wrong. Was I too slow? Did I miss something? As a reward she would stroke my cock or play with back string of the thong panties I was wearing. Dear Lord, she had even taken to grinding or pounding her pelvis against my ass.

Yes, I can imagine what I looked like and yes, I knew what she was doing to me. It's hard to explain, but somehow I couldn't get her to stop. "No", meant she would do something else and then go back to doing what she wanted anyway.

Sophie could always find a way to get me to do what she wanted.

We finished about an hour before Diane was due home. Sophie undressed me and set me, naked, to hand-washing the robe and panties. Afterwards, I put on the outfit she laid out for me to wear, linen pants and shirt, with a sleeveless t-shirt beneath, and sandals. Then, she took me to the bathroom and curled my hair with the curling iron. At first, I was worried about the curls, but when she was done, I looked quite handsome. I almost looked like a rock star.

Diane thought so too. She looked me up and down appreciatively. "You look great Trevor, what's the occasion?"

"You're the occasion." I replied.

Okay, I know it's corny, and something most guys wouldn't say in a million years, but speaking as someone who hasn't worked a day in his life, trust me it works.

We had a wonderful night together. Maybe it was my new rock star look, but in the end, she undressed me in a frantic rush and shoved me back on the bed. She couldn't even wait to take her own clothes off. She just pulled her panties to the side and mounted me. A passion that had been missing for several months was born again.

She held my hands to either side of my head, resting her weight on them, while passionately kissing me and bouncing on top of me. Luckily, the climax from earlier this morning had satisfied some of my desires, and I was able to hold off until she had cum twice.

Afterwards, she got off me. "Be a dear and get my black gown out of the closet."

She took off her wrinkled clothes, while I retrieved her gown. She cleaned her soaked sex off with her panties, before throwing them in the corner. "Boy, Sophie's sure going to have her hands full cleaning them tomorrow," she giggled.

Little did she suspect that the next morning, it was I, not Sophie, hand-washing the cum-stained garments. Sophie didn't even give me a chance to put any clothes on, save for a white apron, until the bedroom was spotless.

When it was clean, she slid a red pair of panties between my legs and tied them at the sides. It was only when she put the top loop over my head and the two tiny triangles dangled loosely on my chest that I realized what it was. A bikini.

I tried to take the bottoms off, but somehow ended up knotting them tightly instead of loosening them. I put my foot down and struggled against the top. "Sophie, I can't wear this."

In response, she pinched my nipples through the thin fabric, while grinding her pelvis against my ass. "Dit oui mon cheri... oui mon cheri... oui mon cheri," she breathed in my ear.

As usual, I couldn't resist her. I ended up doing my morning swim in the red two-piece bathing suit. She lay beneath an umbrella by the pool, occasionally glancing at me from the top her of book or sipping at her lemonade. I did my morning laps; thirty in total. However, when I went to get out of the pool, she stopped me.

"Non, encore plus!" She pointed to the far end of the pool and then to where I was, before holding up her hands. "Dix longeurs de plus," she said, while showing me her ten fingers.

I was tired already and I was so tired I was out of breath by the time I finished the ten extra laps. She was waiting for me at the ladder and dried me off with a towel before leading me to a lounge chair next to where she was sitting. She had me lay on my stomach and, after undoing the bikini top, rubbed tanning oil over my body.

It wasn't till later, when it was time to do my front that the problems came in. She wouldn't let me take the top off. She was deranged. Somehow in her mind, I was a girl and she refused to permit me to act otherwise. She was a doggedly determined fanatic.

I, on the other hand, was weak and tired from the swim. She rubbed the oil over my front, pinching my nipples, and massaging my cock, until I stopped resisting. Then she spread her legs. I couldn't believe it. She wasn't wearing panties. Without a bit of embarrassment, she worked her finger into her slit, fucking herself, staring at me hungrily, while I looked on as if in a trance. I tanned in the sun for around twenty minutes, with her finger going faster with each passing minute, until I could hear the wet sloshing sounds it made as her face contorted in orgasm.

Afterwards, she took off her uniform as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I stared in awe at her body, while she turned me over on my hands and knees. She came up behind me, slipped a hand down the front of my bikini and a hand down the back. What a picture we must have made. Her with her hands down my bikini, massaging my cock, and pushing against me with her hips, while fucking my rear passage with a finger.

Yesterday, there was room for confusion, but today everything was perfectly clear. My role was clear; I was hers to do with as she wanted and this was what she wanted. It scared me to my soul. If I were discovered like this, I would be laughed out of Diane's house and I wouldn't be able to keep my present status once word got out. There just weren't that many rich women that liked to keep a man about for fun. As frightened as I was or maybe because of it, in less than two minutes, I came in the bikini bottom.

"Tu es un salot, P'tite bite," she said. This time she wiped her soiled fingers off on my stomach and back.

When she was finished, she took me inside for a bath once again. She repeated the procedure of shaving me and moisturizing my skin. I grew scared when she hooked the enema bag on the shower curtain rod. I wasn't so much afraid of it as much as I was embarrassed of what would happen after.

"Salot," she breathed, pointing at my ass. She tugged on my balls and fingered the rim of my ass. Soon, she had me on all fours in the tub, with water flooding uncomfortably in my bowels. There was cramping and sweating, and she repeated the procedure two more times. She wouldn't even leave me alone, when I voided myself. Instead, she sat on my lap, made up my face, curled my hair, and otherwise turned me into a woman, while I, suffering in sheer embarrassment, grunted and groaned as I expelled the enema.

Eventually, she deemed me clean and began to clothe me. The enema robbed me of my will to fight. I stood passively as I was garbed in stockings, garters, heels, and a stuffed bra. The next item of clothing was a uniform much like her own. The difference being mine was much shorter, ending just below the cheeks of my ass. She tied a white apron around my waist, pushed me to the full length mirror, and knelt down behind me.

The image before me was shocking. I not only looked feminine, I was even attracted to myself. I knew I needed to battle back, reclaim my will, and somehow resist this witch of a woman.

I gasped as I felt her head move beneath my skirt. Then she did something I never imagined a woman would do. She kissed my rear opening, exploring it with her tongue. I grabbed the mirror for support, and watched the sexy maid in the mirror grow more and more aroused, eventually falling down to her stocking covered knees, her hips bucking with desire. I wished it had gone on forever, but she stopped laving my arse with her tongue after a only a few minutes. She got up and helped me slip on a pair of white thong panties, and we set about cleaning the house.

The day went by much faster than the previous. I was much more knowledgeable and proficient at performing the tasks she set me. She worked along side of me, sometimes supervising me. As a reward she caressed me through the fabric of my clothes or grinded against my ass while I was bent over. However, my punishments grew more severe.

I found this out when I accidentally forgot and placed a pair of Diane's pantyhose in the wash with the towels. Sophie turned red, and promptly hauled me into the living room and pulled me down over her lap. I soon found myself dangling over her thighs, with my skirt pulled up over my head and arms and my panties down around my knees. She spanked me then. Spanked me till I cried and kicked my legs in vain on her lap. As an adult, I'd never been so utterly humiliated and reduced back to childhood as I was at that moment.

After it was over, she helped me put myself back together again, brushing my hair out of my eyes and kissing me in sympathy. As usual, I found it impossible to stay mad at her.

She gave me the pantyhose I had ruined. "Lave moi ça," she said, making a washing motion with her hands. I took them from her and turned to leave.

"Non!" she said, holding her hand up and stopping me. "Fait-moi la révérence."

I looked at her questioningly, while she got up and stood beside me, facing the sofa she was sitting in earlier. Placing one foot behind the other, she bent down at her knees, bringing up her skirt with both hands. "Oui, Madam," she said.

She sat back down on the sofa, angling her long stocking clad legs to the side, tantalizing me. She crooked her eyebrows and pointed to me. Oh God, she couldn't actually expect...

My face turned crimson. I took hold of the sides of my skirt, bobbed down quickly, and curtseyed. "Yes, Miss."

"Non." She looked at me sternly. "Oui, Madame."

I repeated it. "Oui, Madame."

I repeated it many times, going lower and lower, and my already short skirt rising higher and higher with every curtsey. She smiled and motioned me to her, and turned me around, after she was satisfied with my progress.

"Encore," she said.

I curtseyed, but this time as I squatted, she pressed her face between the cheeks of my arse. She tongued me there in mid curtsey, until my legs could no longer support me and I lay in a heap at her feet. Afterwards, she pulled me to my feet, and playfully slapped me on the rear when I turned to leave. Instinctively, I gave her a proper curtsey, as I left the room.

"Oui, Madame."

The rest of the day went without incident. As before, she dressed me in my regular clothes an hour before Diane returned.

I had cum once in the morning, but had been kept sexually aroused for most of the day. I was desperate to have sex with Diane when she got home, but she didn't seem interested, saying she was too tense. I went back to the bedroom with plans to disrobe and walk back into the living room naked with two drinks.

It was bare luck that made me look in the mirror in horror as I left the room - I had tan lines. Tan lines where no self-respecting man ought to have. Rushing, I opened my dresser and found the silk pajama set Diane had purchased for me, but I had never worn. I dressed quickly, mixed Diane a martini, and gave it to her in the living room.

"I'm a still a little tired from tennis today. I think I'm going to turn in early," I said.

"I'll be along in a minute, gorgeous."

I began to walk out the room, but she stopped me. "Oh, and Trevor..."

"Thank you for the martini," she said.

"Oui, Madame." I caught myself mid-curtsey. Burning with embarrassment, I looked quickly to see if she saw me. Luckily, she seemed to be toying with her olive at the time. I left before I could do further damage to my reputation.