How I Became a Housekeeper

Strapon_gb. "How I Became a Housemaid"

I was seriously looking for a job, and it didn't matter what kind—the choice for an 18-year-old without an education wasn't great anyway. After scouring a stack of newspapers with ads, I decided to try this one: "Housemaid wanted. Good pay. Tel..." Of course, there was something unmanly about this job, but if the pay was good and no heavy mental or physical labor was required, why not give it a try? I dialed the number: — Hello! I'm calling about the ad. Are you offering a housemaid job? — Yes, but you're male... This job requires a woman. — If you think I can't handle the duties

that any woman can handle, then you're mistaken. I'm ready to work, I don't care as what. — Are you serious, young man? Well, alright, you agreed to it yourself. Come today at six. She gave me the address, and we arranged to meet. Today was a good day, since I managed to arrange it on the first try, even with the uncertainty about being accepted. By six o'clock, I was already there. At the apartment, I was met by a rather attractive, nicely dressed young woman who introduced herself as Ira. She told me to come in, take off my coat, and make myself at home. Leaving my outerwear in the closet and entering one of the rooms, I immediately felt as if I had stepped into another world. Perfect decor and order, a beautiful pink bed, a cabinet with a large ornate mirror, fluffy dresses hanging on hangers, various cosmetic items—everything shone with beauty and fragrance. — Meet my bedroom. You will be taking care of it, keeping it in excellent condition... I felt I wouldn't be able to handle the task, and in general, I might only ruin all this splendor that didn't belong to me, but Ira seemed to have no doubts about me. She led me to the other rooms, which were no less clean and tidy than this one. Gradually, Ira began to explain the duties of a housemaid—firstly, a housemaid must constantly maintain order, make the bed, cook, wash dishes, do wet and dry cleaning, and follow all the mistress's instructions. Great obedience and compliance are required. A housemaid even needs to have a certain vocabulary in communication and specific clothing (here I didn't quite understand what kind of clothing). — Of course, I understand that a girl is needed for such work, — Ira said, — but seeing you, I immediately realized you were suitable. — But why? Maybe I won't manage? — You will! I'll pay you good money for it, — she looked me over again — I can tell just by looking at you that you can do women's work. I immediately blushed, feeling awkward. What did she see in me? Just a regular guy, and what does it matter how I look? But for Ira, it seemed to matter. — Listen, Yura — she addressed me — today you'll need to change clothes. As a housemaid, you simply must be dressed appropriately. And don't be shy about anything. — But what should I be shy about? What clothing are you talking about? — Let's go to the bedroom, I'll show you everything... We entered the bedroom, Ira took out a beautiful box from the closet and told me to open it. I opened the box and saw women's underwear inside, but I didn't immediately understand it had a direct relation to me. I thought I'd just get some instructions about cleaning the bedroom, but Ira didn't beat around the bush and explained right away: — This is your new clothing. I want you to try it on right now! My God, what is she talking about? That I should put on women's underwear? Well, that's just beyond the pale. What a nightmare, so Ira didn't say "housemaid" and make all those hints about my femininity for nothing! It was too late to do anything, as Ira actively started taking off my old clothes, and she did it with such force that I could only stand there frozen. Soon I was completely naked, head bowed, trembling with shame, and Ira was already aiming to pull stockings onto my legs. I was no longer able to resist, so I had to lift first one, then the other leg to allow Ira to do what she intended. — Wonderful, just great! — she said when the stockings were fully on, — though the hairs on your legs will need to be shaved later. I looked in the mirror and was amazed! For the first time, my own legs were clad in black women's stockings, giving them incredible slenderness and sexuality. I was in turmoil from having to stand like that, naked, in just stockings under Ira's piercing gaze. But she wasn't the least bit excited like I was, as if she were simply dressing her own little girl. Next were panties—white, lacy women's panties. I terribly didn't want to put them on, but I had to. They fit well, hugging my waist over the stockings, though they were too narrow and tight—they pressed, firmly digging into my butt. — Good, good. You'll make an excellent housemaid! Next was a bra. That one really seemed out of place—why a bra if there are no female breasts? What is there to cover? But Ira was well prepared—skillfully putting a beautiful bra on my chest, she stuffed some soft, jelly-like lumps under it instead of breasts, very much resembling breasts. Now I looked even more like a girl, but that wasn't all. A housemaid was supposed to have a dress in which to toil through her workdays. For me, a black dress was prepared, with cut-off sleeves, a white lace collar, and a white apron like housemaids wear. It seemed completely not for me—after all, I'm not a woman, maybe it's not too late to cancel everything? But Ira didn't give me time to think and started actively putting it on me. The dress easily slipped over my head and was on me. It was so feminine that it seemed no one could remain a man in this dress. I had to restrain the awakening femininity within me and the rising wave of excitement. "Calm down, calm down, the last thing I need is for my dick to rise in front of Ira..." — Look at yourself, you're a real housemaid! Later I'll do your makeup, I'm a master at cosmetic tricks! You'll be irresistible! For now, put on this wig! I put on the wig provided to me with feminine curly hair, which complemented my already feminine appearance. From that moment, my workdays began. And where could I go? I didn't want to lose the job and carried out the duties assigned to me. At first, housework didn't seem difficult—walk around the rooms and tidy up after the mistress, scrubbing floors and walls was a bit harder, but that wasn't a problem either. The main inconvenience was the clothing—what man would enjoy walking around in women's underwear? It's so feminine that it seemed I myself was becoming a woman under its influence, and that scared me the most. Well, how would you like walking around in stockings, pink panties, all these straps and lace? You're washing floors, crawling on your haunches, but you find the position on all fours pleasant. Or you merrily run from one room to another, gracefully moving your feet like a ballerina in a ballet, while trying to feel how beautifully the dress lifts. And how would you like serving Ira, literally kneeling before her (that was when she ordered me to clean her boots right on her feet) or, at her command! braid her hair (I always considered that a purely girlish activity). And the worst part—I had to sleep at Ira's place, as the job required living on-site. I had to wear a women's nightgown and white lace stockings at night, as Ira ordered. And in the morning, I would change back into stockings (I initially had three pairs that I alternated daily) and all the other housemaid clothing. Almost immediately on the third day of work, I underwent hair removal, after which literally everything was shaved, even almost all the hair on my head, replaced by a wig, and I also underwent a makeup procedure. Ira worked a miracle on my face. I didn't think it could become so beautiful—full painted lips, magnificent eyelashes, rosy cheeks—it seemed like the face of some doll or beauty from a fashion magazine. I caught myself thinking I was pleased. Yes, I'm beautiful and I'm glad about it—now no ugly hairs on my legs, my legs became much neater and the stockings looked even more amazing on them, my face now matches all the other clothing and no longer reminds of the male sex. I began to perform my housemaid duties much more responsibly and willingly, I no longer needed anything explained or reminded—I tried to be helpful to Ira in everything. For which I received deserved rewards—Ira bought me a small wardrobe for my clothing, where all my feminine belongings were now stored. And later rewarded me with a new lingerie set—beautiful lace panties, a feminine garter belt, white lace stockings with elastic attached to the belt, and a women's "bodysuit." I immediately tried it on and was very moved by the incredible elegance and femininity of the new clothing. Sometimes Ira's girlfriends would visit. I felt awkward appearing before them like this, and I desperately wished they wouldn't recognize me as a man. Ira introduced me to her friends as her housemaid, they somewhat took advantage of my status, giving some instructions and orders, but it seemed none of them ever guessed who I really was. After all, I demonstrated feminine manners in everything, and there was nothing that could give me away. The result of my week-long stay in Ira's apartment was the complete disappearance of any masculine manifestations in me, a softening of character, and the emergence of feminine traits. I came to love my dresses, stockings, and lingerie; I no longer wanted to wear rough men's clothing, I realized it wasn't for me. My lot is to be a woman, and there's nothing wrong with that! No one knows why one can't deviate from norms, why a man can't become a woman, and so I see no reason to worry. A week passed, and we never actually discussed sexual life. Yes, I masturbated in secret from Ira—the feminine clothing excited me so much that I came powerfully and with pleasure. But Ira herself was not an object of sexual desire for me; male attraction to women had disappeared, since I myself was a woman in all respects. Therefore, I wasn't tormented by desires to peek into her bedroom at night, to press her body against mine—that seemed so forbidden that it was better not to even entertain such thoughts. Everything became clear that night. As usual, I was sleeping in white elastic stockings, white panties, and a nightgown covered with lace trim. Ira came in unexpectedly and woke me up in a way I would remember for a long time. She inserted a large artificial penis into my slightly opened mouth. I woke up sharply, and when I realized what was in my mouth, I blushed all over. I heard Ira say "Suck!", and unable to resist the order, I began to suck slowly, comforting myself with the thought that all women do this and I should too. Every ridge of the penis was felt very well in my mouth; it seemed like the real thing! The penis was tied to Ira's waist with stiff straps; Ira was also wearing black stockings, black gloves up to her elbows, and a black bustier with a cutout for breasts (her breasts remained completely exposed). She grabbed me by the hair and held me tightly so I couldn't move on my own. She also threw off the blanket, exposing my appearance in feminine underwear, obviously enjoying my complete submission. Yes, I felt somewhat ashamed and awkward, but I continued to suck, acting on the principle: if you're doing it, do it well and with feeling. Over time, I even started to enjoy it; the penis seemed so masculine, hard, and sexy that holding it in my tender mouth, with my girlish lips, was the height of bliss. When Ira finally took it out of my mouth, I even instinctively reached for it, but Ira just gently slapped my lips with her hand and said: — Not all at once. You'll have many more opportunities to hone your blowjob skills. And now we'll check how ready your little ass is: Ira took me by my limp legs, comfortably positioned me in the typical "woman spreads her legs, man enters from above" pose, carefully lubricated my anus with some ointment, and then with slow movements began to penetrate my hole with the penis. It hurt, I endured, understanding the necessity of submission. The penis went in quite deep, making me sometimes squeal and convulsively jerk my legs. Gradually, it began to give pleasure—I felt like a real whore, a woman being mercilessly fucked, showing her true purpose. Yes, what can I say, it seems I'll make a good housemaid, too good: Ay! Ay! — I cried out. The bed creaked under the unrestrained onslaught, I held onto its headboard, and Ira continuously worked on me. Even light slapping sounds could be heard, keeping up with the pace set by Ira. In this mad passion, I even managed to simultaneously jerk my own dick with my hand, bringing it closer to the inevitable orgasm. I'm a girl, yes I'm a girl! Have me, have me! I always! was a girl and will be one! Yes, yes!,... I could no longer stop the suddenly surging, erupting stream of sperm. At that moment, everything intensified greatly; it was the strongest orgasm of my life, I was simply struck by the strongest sexual feelings! Ira stopped fucking me only when I spilled the last drop of sperm and let out the last cry of bliss. After that night, we permanently defined our roles—I became a woman-housemaid, and Ira my mistress and simultaneously my lover. Over time, I changed so much that I was simply indistinguishable from a woman. Ira skillfully selected the necessary hormonal drugs, which not only manifested many feminine qualities in me but also led to the growth of my own female breasts! Now I am very proud of my beautiful female breasts, and also proud of my impeccable appearance, maintained with the help of epilation, cosmetic procedures, and the selection of beautiful feminine lingerie. Ira made me a woman, and I'm glad about it!