A sissy next door

Chapter 3: Rules of Servitude
The following afternoon, Rohan was at the corporate office. Meera was unboxing books in the study when the doorbell rang. It was Eleanor, dressed in casual cashmere, with Arthur in tow. Today, Arthur wore a baby-blue latex maid dress. The cut, the brutal corset pushing up his massive breasts, the gag, and the six-inch stilettos remained exactly the same, though the bow and choker now matched the blue latex.
"Arthur needs to clean your living room and arrange your walk-in closets today," Eleanor announced, stepping inside as if she owned the place. She reached into Arthur's apron pocket, pulled out the blue silicone ball gag, and held it out to Meera.
"Here," Eleanor said, a wicked, knowing glint in her eye. "You do it this time."
Meera froze. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Me? Oh, Eleanor, I couldn't. I don't know how."
"Don't be silly. He's here to serve your house today, which makes him your maid for the afternoon. A maid must be properly silenced before he begins his work. It's the rules. If you don't gag him, he'll think he's allowed to speak to you, and we can't have that."
Meera looked at Arthur. He was already kneeling on the cold hardwood floor before her. His knees were pressed together, his long pink acrylic nails resting flat on his latex-clad thighs. He tilted his bald head back, looking up at Meera with large, expectant, deeply submissive eyes. He opened his mouth wide, waiting for her to degrade him.
Meera hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the thick leather straps of the gag. The power dynamic shifted palpably in the room. The air felt heavy. She looked down at the older man kneeling at her feet, his massive breasts heaving slightly against the constraints of the corset. She was a young woman from Mumbai; he was an American millionaire kneeling on her floor in lingerie, begging silently to be treated like an object.
Slowly, her breathing shallow, Meera pushed the silicone ball into his mouth.
Arthur accepted it eagerly, parting his teeth to let it slide over his tongue. Meera reached around the back of his bald head. Her fingers brushed the stiff blue Bambi bow pinned there. She pulled the thick leather straps tight, tighter than she probably needed to. She fumbled with the metal buckle for a moment, her hands shaking, before securing it tightly against his skin.
Arthur immediately rose to his feet, his joints popping, and curtsied gratefully to Meera.
"Upstairs, Arthur. The master closet. Organize it by color and season," Eleanor commanded. "And don't you dare wrinkle any of Rohan's shirts."
Arthur curtsied again to Eleanor and began the arduous climb up the main staircase. Watching him carry a heavy box of Rohan's winter coats up the stairs in six-inch heels, his calves straining and shaking with every step, Eleanor leaned in close to Meera.
"He has become entirely too efficient at my household chores," Eleanor whispered, walking with Meera toward the kitchen to pour some tea. "He has far too much free time, and free time is terrible for a sissy. They start to think they have rights. I'd like to propose something, Meera."
"What is it?" Meera asked, watching the sway of Arthur's hips as he disappeared onto the second floor.
"Let Arthur be your maid as well. Permanently. He can come over every single day and do all your chores. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing. Whatever you desire. It gets him out of my hair, and it keeps him exhausted and humiliated, which is exactly how I like him."
Meera thought of Rohan's absolute disgust the night before. She knew Rohan would hate this. He would argue against it. But as she looked around at her beautifully organized kitchen from yesterday, and thought of the massive walk-in closet currently being expertly sorted by a man who couldn't even speak back to her, the temptation crushed her hesitation.
"Okay," Meera found herself saying, her voice steadier than she expected. A thrill ran down her spine. "We'd appreciate that. Thank you, Eleanor."
The very next day, precisely at 9:00 AM, the doorbell rang.
Meera opened it to find Arthur standing alone on the porch. He stood in the falling snow, shivering violently in his thin pink latex dress and tight corset. His bare arms and shoulders were covered in goosebumps, his breath pluming in the freezing air, but he was smiling politely.
"Come in, Arthur, you're freezing," Meera said, stepping back.
Arthur stepped into the foyer and wiped his stiletto heels meticulously on the welcome mat. Before making any move toward the cleaning supplies, he reached into his frilly apron and handed Meera a laminated piece of pink paper.
"Mistress Eleanor has asked me to present my rules of service to you, Ma'am," he said, his voice soft, submissive, and shivering slightly from the cold.
Meera took the laminated sheet. It smelled faintly of strawberries and cleaning chemicals. She read the list aloud:
"One: I cannot eat or drink anything while performing chores, and I must be firmly secured in my ball gag at all times. Two: I must drop into a full, deep curtsy after every single command given to me, and whenever entering or leaving a room you are in. Three: My chores must be executed with absolute perfection; no mistakes of any kind are permitted. Four: I must perform all requested chores immediately, with no questions asked, no complaints uttered, and no hesitation."
Meera looked up from the paper. "Arthur, this is... very strict. You can't even drink water?"
"I ask that you ensure I follow all these rules perfectly, Ma'am," Arthur said, his eyes earnest, almost pleading. "I need the discipline to serve properly. I am a weak, pathetic sissy, and I need strict boundaries. If I fail in any regard, if I miss a single spot of dust or fold a shirt incorrectly, you are to complain directly to my Mistress so I may be punished severely. Furthermore, you may add any rules or chores you wish. I exist solely to follow your commands."
He dropped into a deep curtsy, his heavy breasts resting momentarily on his knees. From his apron, he produced the signature pink ball gag and offered it up to her with both hands, his head bowed.
Meera swallowed hard. The last shreds of her reluctance vanished, completely overwritten by a dark, intoxicating sense of absolute authority. She took the gag, stepped forward, and confidently slipped it between his lips. She pulled the straps even tighter than yesterday, securing the buckle firmly, ensuring it bit slightly into the skin at the back of his neck.
Arthur curtsied deeply once more, his breath already becoming a wet, nasal wheeze.
"Start with the master bathroom," Meera commanded, her voice finding a new, colder, firmer edge. "I want the tub scrubbed. And Arthur?"
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Arthur paused mid-turn and curtsied again, looking at her.
"Don't use a sponge. Use a toothbrush."
Arthur nodded enthusiastically, curtsied again, grabbed a bucket of cleaning supplies from the hall closet, and marched up the stairs, his heels clicking in a rapid rhythm.
Ten minutes later, Meera walked past the open bathroom door. She stopped and watched. Arthur was on his hands and knees inside the large porcelain soaking tub. He was scrubbing the grout with a small, hard-bristled toothbrush. His latex dress had ridden up dangerously high, exposing his garter belt, the lace of his panties, and his stocking-clad thighs. Because of the brutal steel-boned corset, he couldn't bend at the waist properly, forcing him into agonizing, awkward positions to reach the floor of the tub. His massive, fake breasts were squashed painfully against the cold porcelain side of the tub as he reached into the far corners. He was sweating profusely, his nasal breathing ragged and desperate through the gag, his arms trembling from the exertion, but he didn't stop scrubbing.
Meera leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, a genuine smile playing on her lips. "Make sure you get the corners by the faucet, Arthur. I saw a water stain there yesterday."
Arthur stopped, turned his head toward her, and while still kneeling awkwardly in the tub, managed a clumsy but deeply respectful curtsy. He immediately attacked the corners by the faucet with renewed, frantic vigor.