She rode the subway into work as usual this morning. In fact everything seemed "as usual" about today. Everything, that is, except for the "special" pouch held tightly by the strap over her shoulder. It was the only thing out of place, and the only thing that could possibly indicate that today was going to be anything but "usual". The innocuous leather pouch held a very special surprise, one that centered on a subject she'd often fantasized about after watching an old black and white movie on cable several years ago.
About four weeks earlier she and Sir, her supervisor, had started 'working' on Saturday mornings. He called it Casual Saturday, because His mode of dress varied from week to week. She, however, wore whatever He instructed her on Friday night before they left. Saturday morning she came prepared to be transformed into his personal plaything for the entire day. No matter what that might mean.
Last night He handed her the usual printout, and it said ... authentic French Maid. After getting home, she'd googled site after site on the internet. Every site she found had almost the same description ... very short full black skirt with masses of ruffled petticoats underneath. Demi-cup corset, peeking out around the tiny satin bib of a tiny little apron. Black stockings, either the panty kind or lace topped thigh-highs, ending in black stiletto heels.
She thought about checking out the costume shops in her neighborhood, but it was late and most would probably be closed. She went to her closet and found, surprisingly enough ... a white satin pillowcase to make an apron out of, a short black taffeta A-lined skirt, and the petticoats she'd worn under the bridesmaid's gown to her cousin's wedding a couple of years before.
After a little creative cutting and sewing, she spread the various items out across her bed. With the addition of a black satin corset and the last pair of black fishnet thigh-highs without a tear, she had everything needed to put together an almost authentic Maid's costume. Even the new pair of black patent leather pumps with four inch heels fit perfectly with the other bits and pieces. Just before leaving, she's added a brush, ponytail holder and some black satin ribbon for her hair.
That was what she had tucked safely away in the case. That was what she would be dressing in once she got to work this morning. Her mind kept playing over the many roleplay scenarios that she's skimmed while searching for costume ideas. The French Maid and the Businessman had been her favorite. But, there were dozens of roleplay stories on every site she's found. Each one more uninhibited than the last, but every last one had squeezed a reaction out of her.
As she swayed, hanging onto the strap her mind began to replay the kinkiest one, and without realizing it, she moaned softly. A grumble from the left drew her attention to the elderly woman glaring at her over black rimmed reading glasses. A blush heated her cheeks and the deep chuckle just behind her right shoulder caused it to darken even further. Both reactions proved the people crowded against her had heard the sounds and obviously knew where her thoughts were.
Peeking around, she found two men in dark business suits leering at her. When a groan of embarrassment escaped, one man laughed and nudged the other, who promptly winked at her. Thankfully her stop came up only a few minutes later, and neither of the men followed her off the subway car. She gathering what was left of her dignity and escaped up the concrete steps onto the sidewalk at street level.
Even though the office was less than a block away, it seemed to take forever. She walked up to the security desk and signed in, praying the blush had faded from her cheeks. Thankfully the guard on duty did little more than nod and take back the clipboard when she handed it across the counter. It wasn't until the elevator doors finally closed that she took the first deep breath since making her escape from the subway car.
By the time the doors opened again on her floor, she appeared calm and collected. But inside, butterflies were fighting battles in her belly and she felt as if fireworks were exploding in her veins. Excitement was definitely amped up by the nervousness of what might lay in front of her once the outfit in the case was revealed to Sir. Placing the unopened bag on the desk, she stood behind it and waited for Sir to call her in.
"Cynthia, I have dictation that needs your attention." came the deep voice through the intercom.
"yes, Mr. Walters, i'm on my way." she responded.
Picking up the steno pad and a pencil with one hand, she grabbed the strap of the leather pouch in the other and hooked it over one shoulder. Without hesitation she opened the door and went through. Once inside, she twisted the lock on the closed door.
"come here, pet, show Me what you brought in our special pouch today." came the husky sound of His voice.
She swallowed hard and slowly turned around to look at the man who owned her mind as much as He did her body. He wore a black tuxedo, and she noticed a black silk top hat sitting in the middle of His desk. She slowly walked across to the corner of His desk and placed the pouch down. He reached over, unzipped the top and pulled it apart to peer inside.
"good girl, you came exactly as I expected." He sat down and waited while she picked up the pouch.
She carried it across and placed it on a small table in the corner of the room. Several potted plants were strategically placed around the table, giving her a little privacy from the office windows across the room. There was also a delicate looking chair in the French Rococo style sitting beside the table. She removed each item and placed them on the table in order of need, the heels were set on the floor beside one of the table legs. Once the pouch was emptied she sat it on the floor, it slouched emptily against the wall.
"look at Me while you undress slowly, pet." he murmured.
She was careful to look up as her fingers opened each button of the soft white blouse, biting her lip as she saw the lust smoldering in His eyes. Once the front fell open, she shrugged it back off her shoulders. He shifted in the large office chair and crossed His legs, but never let His gaze waver from her body. The intensity made her cheeks blush, and the color drifted slowly down across her shoulders.
Reaching back to unfasten the hooks that held her bra together, she shivered as the tip of His tongue slid wetly across his lips. Turning slowly, presenting her back to him, she opened the two hooks and bent double. The sheer lace cups fell free, dangling by the shoulder straps for a moment before sliding limply down her arms. She watched him through her spread legs, groaning at the smoldering lust building in his eyes.
She hooked a finger in the narrow band that held the French cut panties around her waist. Slowly pulling down the white lace across her ass, baring it inch by inch just the way he liked it. They fell to her ankles as she let go, but before she could step out he shook his head 'no'. She left them, the soft white twisted limply against the black of her low heeled pumps. Curling her hands around her ankles, she watched as he got up out of the chair and walked over.
"such a pretty little ass, who owns this ass, pet?" he growled.
"You own this ass, Sir." Cyn responded softly.
"good girl." as He bent to lick wetly between the cleft of her cheeks.
She moaned softly, and would have sank to her knees if He hadn't pressed the tips of two fingers against her slit, probing gently. He bit her right cheek, leaving a dull red mark and she whimpered as her juices coated His fingers.
"yes, My good girl." as he moved back and returned to the chair. "now, finish."
Shaking, she straightened up and turned. Her nipples hard and aching, she removed both her shoes and the panties.
