I feel my suspenders stretch as I reach up to dust the top shelf in the library. The stool wobbles slightly and I am afraid I may fall. I can feel “Sir’s” eyes on me as I work. I am so self-conscious that he may see my knickers as I work.

The thought of that triggers mixed feelings in me. My mind drifts to feel the softness of my knickers. My cock starts to stir as the silky nylon prison brushes my cock as I move. When I step off the stool, I feel the frilly lace ride up my backside. I almost reach around to tug them out, but manage to stop myself. That would probably trigger Sir. He would probably want me to “service” him in one way or another.

“All done Sir, may I carry on with my other duties?”

“Yes of course my dear. Oh and Sarah.”

I pause on my way out.

“Yes Sir?”

“When you serve dinner tonight, you should wear your other uniform.”

I can feel my face redden.

“As you wish sir. “

“Good girl. Off you pop then.”

As I make my way down to the kitchen to prepare Sir’s dinner, I hear the now-familiar click of my heels on the wooden floor. I can feel the swish of my skirt about my legs. I can’t deny it is turning me on. The thought of what I must wear tonight adds to my excitement.

My current uniform is a practical hotel maid's uniform. Black dress, black stockings, and a plain white apron. Tonight, though, I will be wearing what I think of as a French maid’s uniform. Frills and lace everywhere.

This is all my own fault. If only I could have controlled my gambling. My wife left me due to that habit. She worked hard, and I had to keep house. I tried to get a job, but I was bad at most jobs and couldn’t even hold down a menial one. My wife once said, if you’d have been born a girl and been pretty, you would have been OK. You could have found a well-off bloke to take care of you.

Maybe her saying that had tempted me. I was bored and had hovered the house, done the washing, and was putting away her underwear. It felt so soft, and I wondered how it would feel to wear it. It felt amazing. I got hard instantly. How did it happen so fast? My wife often complained about my lack of sex drive, but just wearing her knickers had me raring to go.

I gradually increased what I wore, and in a few weeks, I was doing the housework fully dressed. That was how she found me. She came home early because she had found out I had emptied out our joint account. I had a sure tip, 20 to one, it couldn’t lose. Except it did.
She threw me out. I had to beg to be allowed to change clothes. She said if I came back, she would tell everyone I knew about my “filthy habits”.

I slept rough that night. Not an experience I would care to repeat. I slept in an old factory with only rats for company. Luckily, I ran into an old friend Dave, the next day, and he let me come to his place. It was a small, rundown flat. Dave was a carpet fitter, but had a drinking problem. His flat was a mess. He told me I could stay if I did all the housework. I agreed, and life went on for a week or so, then the urge to gamble came surging back. I needed money. Dave refused to give me any. He told me to get a job.

I asked around the housing estate for anyone who could lend me £100 for a nailed-on cert in the 3.30 at Haydock. I was told about a guy called Pete. He was known as Hawkeye by his customers for some reason. He loaned money on a short-term basis. He was a loan shark, and I knew I shouldn’t borrow from him, but I couldn’t help myself. The horse won. I had a grand. That’s when I should have quit. I didn’t.

Over the next two months, I won a few small bets but lost the larger ones. I soon owed Hawkeye eight grand. He was coming round the flat to collect what I owed. I decided not to be there. I wandered the streets until midnight and came home. The flat was a mess, and Dave had a black eye and a cut lip.

“You stupid bastard.” He said.

“You utter moron. You’re as good as dead now. Why the fuck did you borrow from him?”

“I’m so sorry Dave. I had no idea he’d do anything to you. What am I going to do now?”

“Well you can’t stay here. He’ll be back looking for you tomorrow.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to stay. I’ll have to sleep rough.”

“That’s no good. They call him Hawkeye because he tracks people down, you know like that guy in the old movie. A tracker or something. One bloke moved to Stoke with his brother. Two weeks later, they found him floating in a river.”

“Oh shit. I have to hide somewhere.”

Dave looked thoughtful.

“Well, there is one place you could try, but the guy is a bit odd.”

“Anywhere, Please!”

"The guy lives in a mansion in the sticks. I did a carpet for him last week. He is looking for a housekeeper. I don’t think they would track you down there. It's off the beaten track. But as I said, He’s a little odd.”

“I don’t care, Dave. Just point me in the right direction.”

Sir Malcolm Gutteridge picked me up at 10AM from Chingford station the next morning. As we drove further into Epping Forest he explained what he expected from me. I was to call him Sir at all times and do everything I was told. I was to work seven days a week, with no time off. I would be paid, but I was expected to stay on the grounds at all times.

They were terrible terms, but it beat floating dead in a river. So I accepted and started work the same day. I would be paid £100 per week directly into my bank. This was under minimum wage, but I had no bills to pay, so I figured I could use it all for betting.

He was odd. The second day I was there, he told me I needed to wear a housekeeper's uniform. I didn’t mind as I had very few of my own clothes. That was until I saw it. The shoes were feminine-looking moccasins. The trousers were women’s slacks with a zip on the side. There was also a white blouse. He even presented me with a few pairs of socks. These were made of flesh coloured see through nylon.

“But Sir. These are.... are ...”

“ARE WHAT!”

He was a large man. Around 6ft 3 inches. He towered above my 5ft 6 inches. I don’t know why I agreed to wear them. Perhaps it was the fear of being thrown out to the mercy of the men who sought to find me. Maybe I was used to doing what bullies told me to do all my life. It could even be that I wanted to wear those women’s clothes.

Sir seemed to treat me a little better after I wore the new uniform. He would stand and watch me work as I dusted. What I found strange was how he would touch my bottom to get my attention as I cleaned. Who does that? I thought about complaining, but I was honestly a little scared of him.

He didn’t leave the mansion often, and we had deliveries for food and other supplies. One driver said “Thanks miss” when I signed for a delivery. I was stunned and went to look in the mirror. My face did look a little feminine. Sir insisted I shave three times a day. He said stubble was a sign of laziness. He had a full beard, so it was only lazy if I wasn’t smooth.

He told me to take the package up to the attic room. I had not been in there before, and the room surprised me. There was a four-poster bed with a pink silk canopy. The carpet was soft and expensive. When I opened the large closet, I was stunned to see a huge array of women’s clothing. I couldn’t help myself. There were dresses and skirts in bright colours, skirts, blouses, shoes, and boots. I felt myself grow hard.

My wife had a typical modern woman’s wardrobe. A few basic dresses, but mainly jeans and leggings. This closet was full of silk, satin lace, and frills. My breath caught when I saw what must be a maid's dress. The skirt had layers of net lace sewn in. It would flare out when worn and bounce when you walked.

I ached to try it on. What if he caught me? No, I couldn’t. I closed the door and stole a quick look in the drawers of the dresser. An explosion of soft fabric and lace greeted me. I let out a sigh. I longed to try on each and every item. Bustiers, bras, knickers, so many pairs and styles of knickers. Stockings, suspenders and even garters. I shuddered at the thought. The dresser was covered with makeup and hair brushes. It fascinated me.

“Francis!”

Sir was calling. I ran downstairs and stood before him.

“What were you doing upstairs? You took your time.”

“Sorry Sir. I wasn’t sure where to put the package.”

“You weren’t snooping then.”

“err, no Sir”

“That was my maid’s room. I had a maid a few years back. I provide all her clothing. She had to leave it here when she left. Did you see anything you liked?”

I turned bright red. Did he suspect? After all I was wearing what was essentially a woman's uniform now. Even though he called it unisex.

“No Sir, of course not”

He laughed and said.

“Well any time you want to, just let me know. I would like a maid swishing about the place again. I used to love seeing her petticoats flounce as she dusted the shelves. I would call you Sarah. That was the name of my last maid.“

He stared at me. Did he know? I felt my cock grow at the thought of wandering the mansion dressed as a maid with a feather duster. Did he really want to see me like that, or was he winding me up?

Everything changed two weeks later.

“Francis come here quickly.” He sounded panicked. I had never heard him sound anything but confident.

“What is it Sir”

“ There was a large man who called himself Pete at the gates. He was looking for you. I told him I had never heard of you. They demanded I let them in, and I refused. “

“Thank you, Sir. I owe him some money. He's not a nice person. He may kill me if he catches me. “

“Don’t thank me yet. You know the walls keep everyone out of the grounds, well, they keep everyone in too. I just saw on the camera, one of the men has a crowbar and he’s trying ot open the gate.”

“Call the police please.”

“Oh Francis, you naive little fool. You don’t realise how I make my money. I can’t have police snooping around.”

I panicked.

“What am I going to do! He’ll kill me!”

“Me too probably. There are four big guys with him. I might stand a chance against two, but four? Let me think.”

I could see on the gate camera, they were bringing more tools.

“What if Francis wasn’t here? What if he found just me and Sarah my maid.”

“What?”

“Go up and change. Be Sarah, my maid. There is a wig at the back of the closet, I think. Be quick and come when I call you.”

I was terrified. I had this slim chance, but it might work. Who would suspect the maid? The butler, maybe. What an odd thought. I ran up the stairs and stripped off. I threw my clothes under the bed. I dressed so quickly that I never got any pleasure out of it. When I dressed in my wife’s clothes I would slowly pull on my knickers. I would feel the lace tickle my legs as they slowly ascended toward waiting cock. Not this time. It was a mad rush. I pulled on a pair of frilly white knickers with rows of lace, black hold-up stockings, a white bra that I stuffed with handfuls of lacy underwear.

I grabbed the maid’s dress I had seen earlier and forced my feet into a pair of low-heeled court shoes. How long did I have left? I searched the closet and found the blonde bob wig. I put it on and sat at the dresser to apply a little makeup. I stopped as I saw myself in a wig. The hair framed my face perfectly. My hair is brown and cropped short. I looked quite feminine.

I had almost no idea how to use makeup. I dusted myself with face powder, then a little red powder on my cheeks. I picked up some lipstick and as I started to apply it, I heard.

“SARAH! Come down, please. We have guests. “

My time had run out.

To be continued..