Fiction
The Box
My wife found my women’s underwear. That was the beginning of everything…
It started on an ordinary Tuesday. You were coming home from work, still full of meetings, when you saw the cardboard box sitting right in front of the front door. On top of it, a sticky note written in her hand: Put this on. Join me in the kitchen.
The discovery
You still didn’t know she had searched. She had simply opened the back of your drawer, the one you thought was well hidden under the socks and belts. There, neatly folded, were your women’s underwear: the black lace thong, the underwired bra, the fishnet stockings you sometimes put on in the evening when she wasn’t there. She had taken everything out, looked at everything, without a word.
When you came home, she was already waiting. Not angry. Not hysterical. Just… calm. A little smile at the corner of her lips, the one she had when she knew she held something.
The box
You opened the cardboard. Inside: the maid outfit you had once given her as a joke, the one she had never worn. The little white apron, the short black dress, the lace collar, the stockings and garters. And, carefully placed on top, your own underwear. The message was clear.
You understood immediately. You felt your heart race, a mix of shame and excitement already burning in your stomach. You undressed in the hallway, slowly, under her silent gaze. You slipped on the thong, adjusted the bra, pulled the stockings up your legs. Then the dress. It was a little tight at the shoulders, but that no longer mattered.
The maid
When you entered the kitchen, she was sitting at the table, one leg crossed, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked you up and down without standing up.
“Good. You understood. Now you’re going to cook for me.”
You obeyed. The heels you had put on clicked lightly on the tiles. You took out the ingredients, turned on the burners, chopped the vegetables. She watched you work, eyes half-closed, a mocking smile on her lips.
“Faster. And stand up straight. A good little maid doesn’t stand like a man.”
You straightened your back, sucked in your stomach, lifted your chin a little. The dress clung to your ass, the thong rode up between your cheeks with every movement. You could already feel your cock hardening against the thin fabric.
The service
When the dish was ready, she made you serve. You set the plate in front of her, hands slightly trembling. She tasted, nodded, then looked at you.
“On your knees.”
You knelt beside her chair. She placed a hand on your head, stroked your hair, then pulled a little to force you to lift your face.
“You like this, don’t you? Wearing my things. Serving. Being a useless little maid.”
She slid a finger under your chin, forced you to open your mouth, and slipped a piece of toast between your lips. You chewed slowly, eyes lowered.
“Keep going. I want you to stay like that until I’m finished.”
You stayed on your knees throughout the whole meal. She ate quietly, casting a glance, a little laugh, a remark from time to time.
“You really look ridiculous like that. And at the same time… it suits you too well.”
When she finished, she put down her fork, leaned back a little and opened her knees.
“Come. Clean.”
You understood. You moved between her thighs, lifted her skirt a little. She was wearing nothing underneath. You placed your mouth on her, slowly, licking her, sucking her, making her moan softly. She held your head with one hand, guiding you, forcing you to stay exactly where she wanted.
The proposal
Later, after she had come against your mouth, she let you get up. You were still on your knees, face shiny, dress wrinkled, thong soaked.
She looked at you for a long moment, then said, almost casually:
“You like serving me. That’s clear. But… would you like to serve me… and someone else too?”
You felt your heart stop for a second.
“A lover. Someone I would choose. You would stay in uniform. You would serve us dinner. You would pour the wine. And then… you would stay on your knees while he takes me. You would watch. You would clean up. You would do exactly what we told you.”
She placed two fingers under your chin, forced you to look at her.
“I saw your computer, you know. The folders. The photos. The sites. Everything. So don’t lie to me. Do you want that?”
You opened your mouth. No sound came out. Only a breath, a shiver, and an almost imperceptible nod.
She smiled. A real smile this time.
“Good. Then we’ll start slowly. Tomorrow night, you’ll put the outfit back on. You’ll serve me again. And we’ll see how far you’re ready to go.”
She stood up, stroked your cheek one last time, and went into the living room. You stayed there, on your knees on the kitchen tiles, the maid dress stuck to your skin, the taste of her still on your tongue, and in your head a single question looping over and over:
How far am I really ready to go…?