by sissy karen
Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1
The morning after Greg’s party, I busied myself serving coffee, then breakfast, but neither Greg nor Marie paid me much attention. I may as well have been invisible. When I came back later to clear the plates, Marie finally spoke, her tone deliberately casual.
“I’ve been hearing all about the boys’ night. Even Andy texted—thanked you for giving him a lift home.”
I just nodded, too wary to say the wrong thing. I still remembered his teasing the night before, the way it lingered in my head. He certainly didn’t thank me last night. Now here was Marie, painting him as some charming gentleman.
“Sounds like you’ve made a new friend, Bobbi!” she teased, and both she and Greg erupted into laughter.
Then Greg, still grinning, added, “You’ll get to meet Lisa—Andy’s partner—tonight at the girls’ dinner party.”
“Girls’ dinner party?” I repeated, my voice unsure, almost pleading for clarification.
“Yes,” Marie confirmed briskly. “Our turn tonight. I’ve invited five friends over, so we’ll need to prepare.”
Greg stood, stretching, clearly pleased with himself. “And I’m out of here. A night of gossip about make-up and celebrities? No thanks.” He disappeared toward the shower, leaving Marie’s full attention fixed on me.
“I’ve already drawn up the menu,” she said crisply. “Make sure you buy enough for six, and double-check the staples. If you leave now, you’ll still have time to clean the living room before setting the table and starting on the food. And Bobbi—freshly starched tablecloth, freshly ironed maid’s uniform. You’re serving everything tonight. Chop chop. I expect you back from the shops in an hour. Dismissed.”
Dismissed. The word stung, but I swallowed it down and retreated into the kitchen.
The menu was waiting, neatly written, but it read like a culinary gauntlet:
Appetiser – Foie Gras Torchon with Veuve Clicquot Entrée – Scallop Ceviche with chilled Sauvignon Blanc Main – Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Cherry Sauce, paired with a French Malbec Dessert – Chocolate Lava Cake with Raspberry Coulis, served with a Sauternes
I stared at it, my stomach sinking. This wasn’t dinner—it was a battlefield. I began translating the dishes into a shopping list, groaning as I added extra wine glasses to keep pace with all the pairings. Oysters, scallops, duck, champagne, French wines… it was going to cost a fortune. And once the champagne and Malbec were flowing, I knew exactly what my role would be: at the constant beck and call of six uninhibited women, tray in hand, with no escape.
_______
The shops were a nightmare—cars circling endlessly for spaces, tempers flaring in the queues, the whole place vibrating with impatience. I had one hour to do everything and drive back home. I ran from the poultry store to the seafood counter to the supermarket, each stop draining my wallet and my energy. By the time I staggered out with the wine—far pricier than I intended—I was flushed, frantic, and much later than promised.
When I came through the door, arms laden with bags, Marie was waiting, perfectly still, eyes glittering.
“There you are.” Her voice was quiet, but laced with venom. “Do you even realise how long you’ve been gone? Or are you deliberately trying to embarrass me before tonight?”
“No, Marie, the shops were just so busy—”
“Busy?” She let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “That’s your excuse? You always say that. Do you even hear yourself? Every time you’re late, it’s the same story. Don’t you think I notice the pattern?”
I blinked, thrown off balance. “I—I don’t mean—”
“Of course you don’t mean it,” she snapped, cutting across me. “But you do it. You’ve been sitting in some café, chatting with your gay friends haven’t you? Wasting time. Maybe you think I’m too stupid to know where you really go.”
“No, Marie, I swear—”
“You swear?” She tilted her head, smiling without warmth. “You’ve ‘sworn’ before, and yet here we are again. Honestly, I don’t even know why I trust you with simple tasks. Maybe you like making me anxious, is that it? You like watching me suffer while you disappear for hours?”
The accusation stung, absurd as it was, but her eyes pinned me down until doubt crept in. Had I been gone too long? Could I have hurried more?
“Unpack everything,” she said crisply, turning away. “Then clean the living room properly this time. Not the half-hearted job you did last week—I had to redo it myself, though of course you don’t remember that, do you? You never remember.”
My mouth opened, but I stopped. She hadn’t told me she had to redo my effort from last week at the time but now she said it with such certainty that part of me believed her.
“And then lunch,” she added. “Something simple. A tomato and cheese sandwich—though knowing you, that might be ambitious.”
“Yes, Marie.”
Her words slithered into my mind as I worked. The vacuum roared, the polish shone, the dust cloth flew across the mantle, but nothing was enough. She was in my head, whispering doubts: Had I really forgotten last week? Did I take too long? Was I sabotaging her without realising it?
By the time I placed the sandwich in front of her, my hands were trembling. She took one slow bite, watching me with cool satisfaction.
“There,” she murmured. “See what you can do when you try? If only you’d listen the first time.”
And though I knew she was twisting the truth, I felt a pang of guilt anyway—just as she intended.
“I am off to get my nails done, I expect preparations to be complete by the time I return.”
And with that I was left alone.
First job was to iron the tablecloth, and then iron my maid’s uniform for that night. I set the table and then got to work in the kitchen. Time was ticking, and I had to work fast. My hands were shaking so bad I nearly dropped the knife as I sliced the foie gras torchon, the blade catching on my sweaty fingers. The menu’s tacked to the cork-board, glaring at me like a judge: Foie Gras Torchon with Veuve Clicquot, Scallop Ceviche with chilled Sauvignon Blanc, Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Cherry Sauce paired with a French Malbec, Chocolate Lava Cake with Raspberry Coulis and Sauternes. Six dishes for six women, and Marie will expect perfection. My apron’s already smudged with flour, and my heart’s hammering so loud I can’t think straight.
The foie gras is a nightmare—one slip, and it’ll crumble, and Marie will tear me apart if it's not perfect. I’m tweezing micro-greens onto the plates, but my fingers fumble, and one sprig falls. I curse under my breath, imagining their sneers if it’s not perfect. The scallops for the ceviche are next, and I’m slicing so thin I’m terrified I’ll botch it. The Sauvignon Blanc’s in the chiller, but if the ceviche’s off, I’m done for. My head’s a fog. The duck breast is prepped, but I’m dreading the sear—too much, too little, and it’s ruined. The cherry sauce simmers, and I’m stirring like my life depends on it, praying it’s not too sweet or too sharp. The lava cakes are in the oven, and I’m holding my breath, hoping they’ll ooze just right.
The house is quiet, but it’s a trap—the calm before those women storm in, their laughter already echoing in my head. The kitchen’s stifling, the clatter of pans rattling my nerves. I am almost at the stage where I have done all the prep I can do; there will be some last-minute searing of the duck and heating up of the sauce. I will also have to steam some green vegetables, but I can’t do much more at this stage. I make a start on tidying up what I can in the kitchen, and then I hear Marie come home and say,
“30 minutes til the girls arrive. I hope you are close to ready”
“Yes, Marie, I have done all the prep that I can I am just cleaning up now.”
No hello, no thank you, just straight into barking out more commands.
“Get into your maid's uniform and be ready to greet the guests. As each guests arrive, you will welcome them, introduce yourself as bobbie, Marie’s sissy maid and say I am at your service all night. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you want. Then ask if you can take their coat, and then get them a drink straight away. Understood?”
“Yes Marie.” I said sheepishly
“I want this night to be perfect. I want the girls to see how well trained you are. Do not let me down, or there will be consequences you definitely won’t like.”
“Yes Marie.”
“I am going to have a shower and get ready.”
I scurried off to put my uniform on. I wondered what had got into her; she seemed a bit on edge. I would have to be on my best behaviour.
Before I knew it the bell rings and I open the door to greet the first guest. It was Lisa.
Her beauty is as striking as it is intimidating, she exudes a magnetic confidence, her every detail is meticulously curated for this dinner party.
Her statuesque figure is enveloped in a sleek, ivory gown that clings to her curves like a second skin. The dress, with its high neckline and daring keyhole cutout at the chest, is both sophisticated and provocative. Her jet-black hair is styled , probably by Marie and accentuates the sharp angles of her jawline and the warm, honeyed glow of her skin. A pair of diamond drop earrings sways gently as she tilts her head, and a thin, rose-gold bangle gleams on her wrist, its simplicity belying its cost. Her lips, painted a deep berry red, curve into a smile that’s equal parts alluring and menacing, a promise of charm laced with danger. I try not to stare and look away, saying
“Hi, I am bobbie, Marie’s sissy maid.”
“I know, I have heard so much about you from Andy!”
“I am at your service all night. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. Can I take your coat?”
She handed me her coat.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“An Aperol Spritz would be good.”
I turned and headed into the apartment. Marie was in the lounge room and greeted Lisa.
“I’ll have an Aperol Spritz too,” she said.
I took Lisa’s coat into Marie’s bedroom and prepared the drinks as the ladies chatted in the lounge room. I then served the drinks, and the doorbell chimed again.
This time, a tall blonde woman was at the door. She towers over me in a form-fitting, pale gold gown that shimmers. The dress’s one-shoulder design and subtle thigh-high slit accentuate her long, toned legs and graceful posture, exuding both power and poise. Her ash-blonde hair, sleek and straight, falls like a curtain past her shoulders, framing her angular face and sharp, arctic-blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything they survey. Her lips, lightly glossed in a nude shade, curl into a faint, knowing smirk that promises both charm and cutting critique.
Sandy’s towering beauty is intimidating. I only just managed to get my greeting out.
“Hi, I’m bobbie, Marie’s sissymaid. I am at your service all night, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.”
“I am Sandy. I have heard so much about you.”
She said it with a little giggle in an exaggerated tone. She didn’t have a coat so I said,
“Please come in, the ladies are having an Aperol Spritz. Can I get you one of those, or would you prefer something else?”
“An Aperol would be divine bobbie.”
I led her to the ladies' and fetched her drink. Then the other ladies arrived together. Cecily, Eliza and Marianne. After introducing myself, I led them into the lounge room.
Cecily, Marianne, and Eliza glided into the lounge room, each a vision of elegance, their beauty sharpened by the poised cruelty lurking beneath their polished exteriors. At thirty, they carry the confidence of women who know their power, dressed to command attention at this dinner party.
Cecily steps forward, her lithe frame draped in a deep emerald velvet gown that hugs her curves before flaring into a subtle train Her auburn hair is swept into an intricate updo, tendrils framing her sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes. A faint smirk plays on her lips as she adjusts a silk glove, her every movement deliberate, radiating a cool, untouchable allure that dares anyone to challenge her.
Marianne follows, her presence softer but no less commanding, wrapped in a flowing, off-the-shoulder gown of midnight blue silk that shimmers with every step. The dress is cinched at her slender waist with a silver belt, accentuating her statuesque figure. Her golden blonde hair cascades in loose waves, pinned back just enough to reveal sapphire earrings that match her icy blue eyes. Those eyes, framed by long lashes, hold a quiet menace, scanning the room as if cataloguing weaknesses. Her delicate hands, adorned with a single diamond bracelet, betraying none of the tension I know she’s capable of unleashing.
Eliza is a study in bold sophistication, her olive skin glowing against a tailored, scarlet satin dress that clings to her athletic frame, its high slit revealing a flash of leg with every stride. The dress’s structured shoulders and deep V-back lend her an almost regal air, softened only by the cascade of red curls tumbling down her back. She adjusts a cufflink on her sleeve—a nod to her penchant for blending masculine and feminine styles—her confident smile laced with a cruel edge that makes my stomach twist.
I took their drink orders; it was Aperol Spritz all around, and I quickly fetched them.
It wasn’t long before Marie led them all to the dining table and told me to serve the appetiser.
I’m back in the kitchen, pouring the Veuve Clicquot, but my hands shake, and a splash hits the counter. I’m a wreck, flustered, seeing all these glamorous friends of Maries and unravelling with nervous energy before they have even had their first course. I serve the champagne, then come back to get the Fois Gras. Every plate, every garnish, every glass has to be perfect, or I’ll never survive Marie’s judgment.
As I place the last dish before Cecily, she knocks the spoon off the table. I bend to collect the fallen spoon, cheeks warming as the girls’ laughter rippled around her.
“Oh, look at her crawl,” drawled Cecily, swirling her champagne.
“Like a little mouse under the table.”
Marianne clapped her hands. “Do it again! I dropped my napkin.” She flicked it to the floor with deliberate care.
I went around to Marianne’s side of the table, and bent down to pick up the napkin next to her gorgeous red stiletto. I rose, napkin in hand, only for Eliza to sigh dramatically. “Slower, please. You really should learn to curtsy properly while you’re down there.”
Their laughter burst louder this time, cruel and shrill.
“Careful, don’t make her blush,” Cecily whispered loudly enough for me to hear. “Red doesn’t suit her complexion.”
I kept my eyes lowered, fingers trembling as I set the napkin back on the table. Then scurry to the kitchen to get Cecily a clean spoon. Just as I place the spoon back on the table, another fork clattered purposefully to the floor.
“Well?” Marie said sweetly, tapping her plate with a fingernail. “Fetch it. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
“Yes Marie” I said, lost for words.
I stooped again, silently retrieving the fork. As I straightened, Cecily thrust her empty glass toward her.
“More Veuve. And try not to spill it this time. Honestly, it’s not that difficult, even for you.”
I went to the kitchen and fetched the bottle, obeying and pouring carefully. A drop slid down the glass, and Eliza gasped theatrically.
“Oh! She’s crying into your drink, Cecily! How sentimental.”
The laughter roared again, echoing off the walls.
Marianne leaned across the table, chin in her palm. “Tell me, do you even know what you’re serving us? What’s this called? Don’t be shy, speak up.”
The maid’s voice was small, uncertain. “Foie Gras Torchon, Miss Marianne”
“How quaint,” Cecily sneered. “She thinks she knows French.”
“I doubt she can even spell it,” Eliza added. “Go on, spell it, then. Out loud.”
I froze. My lips parted, then closed again, I was so humiliated I couldn’t speak.
“See?” Marianne crowed, clapping her hands. “Hopeless!”
They collapsed into another chorus of laughter.
My knuckles whitened around the empty champagne bottle I still held, but I said nothing, my face stunned and blank..
Cecily leaned back, satisfied. “Well, at least she’s useful for one thing.” She flicked her spoon onto the floor again. “Go on, little mouse. Pick it up.”
After I picked it up, I retreated back to the kitchen.
set the bottle down too hard on the counter, the sharp clink of glass ringing louder than I meant. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My face burned, though the room was cool, and I kept pressing my palms to my cheeks as if I could wipe the heat away.
I could still hear them laughing, even here, muffled by the kitchen walls. It clung to me like smoke, stinging and sour. Every word they’d thrown at me seemed to stick to my skin: mouse, hopeless, stupid. I wanted to scrub them off, to peel myself clean of their voices, but they lingered no matter how I shook my head.
For a moment I just stood there, staring at the platters lined up for the next course. My throat felt thick, as if I’d swallowed a stone. If I let myself cry, I knew I wouldn’t stop, and the food would grow cold, and they’d only have more to mock. So I bit the inside of my lip until the sting steadied me.
I wished, more than anything, to be invisible. If I could slip through the cracks in the floorboards, vanish into the shadows of the larder, I would. But I had to go back out there, tray in hand, smile fixed, as though nothing had happened. As though I were made of wood, not flesh.
The cruelest part was knowing I’d do it — that I’d step through that door again when they rang the bell, bow my head, and serve them like the obedient little creature they wanted me to be. Because what choice did I have?
Marie rang the bell for me to come and take the dirty plates away, then serve the next course. Glasses had to be taken away and new glasses filled with Sauvignon Blanc for the scallops. I was largely ignored through this course as the ladies conversation became a little louder. It sounded like the champagne was having an effect. I started on the dishes while they ate and waited for the command to serve the main course. Again it meant clearing away the glasses and filling fresh glasses with the Malbec.
The silver tray felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I carried it back into the dining room. I kept my eyes fixed on the floorboards, steadying each step the way Marie had drilled into me: back straight, shoulders down, no sound but the soft tap of shoes on the rug.
“Ah, there she is,” Marie announced, her voice light but sharp with amusement. “My little jewel. You see how well trained she is, ladies? Watch.”
My stomach tightened, but I moved to her side, lowering the tray just as she liked. She plucked a dish from it without even glancing at me, then snapped her fingers. I set the plate down before her with both hands, carefully, praying it wouldn’t rattle against the porcelain.
“Perfect,” she cooed, though her smile was for her friends, not me. “She knows every movement by heart. I hardly have to say a word.”
“Like a performing dog,” Cecily said, and they all laughed.
Marie tilted her head, savouring the moment. “Go on, show them how prettily you serve. Pour Eliza’s wine — nice and slow.”
I stepped to Eliza’s side, bottle poised. My hands didn’t tremble this time; I forced them still with every ounce of will I had. The wine filled her glass in a steady stream.
“See?” Marie clapped softly, as though I were a child. “Not a drop spilled. Isn’t she clever?”
The girls applauded, laughing harder now. Heat burned in my chest, but I bowed my head as Marie caught my chin between two fingers and tilted my face upward.
“She doesn’t even flinch,” she told them, pride glowing in her tone. “Obedience is an art, and she’s my masterpiece.”
I swallowed hard and let her hold me there, my face displayed like a prize. I could taste the humiliation like ashes on my tongue, but I dared not move. Not while they were watching. Not while she was smiling.
Marie released my chin at last, and I bowed quickly, grateful for the brief freedom. But she wasn’t finished.
“Now, watch closely,” she said, her voice lilting with pride. “She knows how to stand perfectly still, no matter what. Don’t you, my dear?”
I froze where I was, hands clasped before me, head slightly bent. My heart pounded, but I kept my breathing shallow, just as she’d taught me.
“Marvellous,” Cecily murmured, reaching across the table to pluck a grape from her plate. She held it between two fingers. “Open your mouth, little one.”
My lips parted before I had time to think — instinct, drilled into me. She placed the grape on my tongue as though feeding a bird, then laughed. “Oh, Marie, you’ve trained her like a pet.”
“She is a pet,” Eliza chimed in, eyes glittering. “Make her sit by your chair. Let’s see how tame she really is.”
Marie arched an eyebrow, considering, then patted the carpet beside her. “Kneel.”
The command was soft, almost affectionate, but I felt every muscle in my body stiffen. I lowered myself slowly, carefully, until I was kneeling at her side, the hem of her gown brushing my shoulder.
The girls clapped in delight.
“Adorable!” Marianne squealed. “She could almost be a statue. Look at her posture — so docile!”
“Does she stay there the whole meal?” Cecily asked.
“Only when I wish to make an impression,” Marie replied smoothly, resting her hand lightly on my head. “She never dares move unless I give leave.”
Their laughter was sharper now, their amusement rising.
“Have her pour the sauce from there,” Eliza suggested, mischief curling in her tone. “From her knees. That would be charming.”
Marie’s smile widened. “You heard her.”
I had to crawl around on my knees and I rose just enough to reach the tureen, my hands steady despite the flush crawling up my neck. I poured carefully, silently, the steam clouding my eyes.
“Exquisite!” Cecily clapped again. “It’s like a little performance. Truly, Marie, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“And the best part,” Marie said sweetly, stroking my hair as though I were a favoured dog, “is that she doesn’t complain. Not a word. That’s true discipline.”
Their laughter pealed once more, ringing in my ears as I lowered my head and placed the ladle back, heat burning my skin like a brand. I felt myself shrinking smaller and smaller with each sound, until I was nothing more than an object at their table — a showpiece to be displayed, mocked, and admired.
I was dismissed after that and was again basically ignored while serving dessert. Dessert plates were cleared, and I thought—foolishly—that the worst of the evening was over. I gathered the last tray, eager to vanish back into the kitchen. But Eliza’s voice cut through the chatter like a knife.
“Marie,” she said slyly, “is it true you keep your little maid under… special restraints?”
The laughter around the table quieted into a hush of expectation. My blood ran cold.
Marie’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh, you’ve heard about that, have you?”
Eliza leaned forward, eyes glittering. “I simply must see. Tell me it isn’t a rumour.”
My breath caught. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, praying Marie would dismiss it, wave it off as idle gossip. Instead, her hand drifted to my shoulder.
“Show them,” she said softly, almost tenderly.
My stomach dropped.
I set the tray down with trembling fingers. Slowly, I tugged at the hem of my apron, pulled down my panties and revealed the pink chastity cage I was locked in. A little padlock securing it in place, gleaming in the candlelight, the key long gone from my keeping.
A chorus of delighted gasps and laughter filled the room.
“Oh, heavens, it’s real!” Cecily exclaimed, clapping her hands. “She actually wears it!”
“Like a child’s leash,” Marianne giggled. “How precious.”
Eliza tilted her head, smirking. “And she can’t remove it herself? Oh, Marie, you are cruel.”
Heat flooded my face as they leaned closer, eyes drinking in my humiliation. I wanted to disappear, to sink into the carpet and never rise again.
“Imagine,” Cecily said with mock pity, “being trusted so little you must wear a lock on your very clothes. It’s almost—” she laughed—“as though she isn’t a person at all, but property.”
Their laughter rang out, sharp and merciless. I clutched the edge of my apron with shaking hands, wishing I could tear free, but knowing I would only prove their point.
Marie stroked my shoulder, her voice sweet as honey.
“Without it, she would be playing with it all the time, it is too much of a distraction isn’t it bobbi?”
“Yes Marie.” My voice was choking up in shame but I managed to answer.
“You see? Perfect obedience. She accepts it without complaint. That’s why she’s mine.”
The room erupted again, their voices buzzing in my ears, until all I could hear was the cruel chorus: mine, mine, mine.
I bowed my head lower, swallowing the bitter taste of shame, the lock’s weight pressing heavy against me — heavier than chains.
“I can’t believe how small she is to fit into that tiny cage, Andy wouldn’t get the head of his cock in that.” said Lisa, laughing as she said it.
“So small” echoed Cecily, humiliating me further.
The lock clicked faintly as I squirmed under this humiliation, and the sound seemed to delight them all over again.
“Oh, listen to that!” Cecily cried. “She jingles like a toy. Do it again—move, little one.”
I obeyed, stepping forward, the tiny rattle of metal betraying me. Their laughter burst sharp and bright.
“Marvellous,” Eliza said. “She’s like a wind-up doll. Shake her and she makes music.”
“Let’s play a game,” Marianne suggested, mischief flashing in her eyes. “Whoever hears the lock first when she walks gets another glass of wine.”
They cheered at the idea, and Marie, smiling indulgently, tapped my arm. “Go on then, my dear. Around the table, nice and slow.”
My throat tightened, but I circled the table as commanded, each step deliberate. The faint chime of the clasp betrayed me again and again, and each time, one of them clapped or laughed out loud, declaring they’d “won.”
“Honestly,” Cecily said through her giggles, “it’s like parading a pet in a collar. Next you’ll be teaching her tricks.”
Marie’s smile sharpened. “Oh, she knows a few.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Kneel.”
The word fell like a weight. I sank down at her side, the belt digging into my waist as the lock caught the light.
“Splendid!” Eliza leaned forward eagerly. “Now make her bow her head each time you say her name. That will be amusing.”
“Very well,” Marie said smoothly, stroking my hair. “Won’t you, little one?”
I bowed low, forehead nearly to the carpet, then straightened again, my face burning.
“Marie,” Marianne prompted with a grin.
I bowed again.
“Marie!” Cecily crowed.
Another bow.
They burst into shrieks of laughter, calling the name over and over until I felt dizzy with the motion, my cheeks hot, my back aching. Still, I obeyed. I had no choice.
At last, Marie raised her hand, and I stilled. Her fingers brushed the lock at my waist, and she addressed her friends with triumphant pride.
“You see, ladies? Not only is she locked, but her spirit is locked as well. Body and will, both mine to command.”
Their cheers and laughter rang in my ears, each sound a lash I could not escape. I kept my eyes on the floor, heart hammering, praying the torment would end before I shattered.
The night went on for another hour or so. I had to drive the ladies home. AS we were walking out the door, Lisa said,
“I will have to borrow bobbi one day, to help me with my chores.”
The others all said “Me too”. As the laughter intermingled with the hugs and kisses goodbye.
“We’ll see”, said Marie.
I started to wonder how much worse this could get for me.
Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1
The morning after Greg’s party, I busied myself serving coffee, then breakfast, but neither Greg nor Marie paid me much attention. I may as well have been invisible. When I came back later to clear the plates, Marie finally spoke, her tone deliberately casual.
“I’ve been hearing all about the boys’ night. Even Andy texted—thanked you for giving him a lift home.”
I just nodded, too wary to say the wrong thing. I still remembered his teasing the night before, the way it lingered in my head. He certainly didn’t thank me last night. Now here was Marie, painting him as some charming gentleman.
“Sounds like you’ve made a new friend, Bobbi!” she teased, and both she and Greg erupted into laughter.
Then Greg, still grinning, added, “You’ll get to meet Lisa—Andy’s partner—tonight at the girls’ dinner party.”
“Girls’ dinner party?” I repeated, my voice unsure, almost pleading for clarification.
“Yes,” Marie confirmed briskly. “Our turn tonight. I’ve invited five friends over, so we’ll need to prepare.”
Greg stood, stretching, clearly pleased with himself. “And I’m out of here. A night of gossip about make-up and celebrities? No thanks.” He disappeared toward the shower, leaving Marie’s full attention fixed on me.
“I’ve already drawn up the menu,” she said crisply. “Make sure you buy enough for six, and double-check the staples. If you leave now, you’ll still have time to clean the living room before setting the table and starting on the food. And Bobbi—freshly starched tablecloth, freshly ironed maid’s uniform. You’re serving everything tonight. Chop chop. I expect you back from the shops in an hour. Dismissed.”
Dismissed. The word stung, but I swallowed it down and retreated into the kitchen.
The menu was waiting, neatly written, but it read like a culinary gauntlet:
Appetiser – Foie Gras Torchon with Veuve Clicquot Entrée – Scallop Ceviche with chilled Sauvignon Blanc Main – Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Cherry Sauce, paired with a French Malbec Dessert – Chocolate Lava Cake with Raspberry Coulis, served with a Sauternes
I stared at it, my stomach sinking. This wasn’t dinner—it was a battlefield. I began translating the dishes into a shopping list, groaning as I added extra wine glasses to keep pace with all the pairings. Oysters, scallops, duck, champagne, French wines… it was going to cost a fortune. And once the champagne and Malbec were flowing, I knew exactly what my role would be: at the constant beck and call of six uninhibited women, tray in hand, with no escape.
_______
The shops were a nightmare—cars circling endlessly for spaces, tempers flaring in the queues, the whole place vibrating with impatience. I had one hour to do everything and drive back home. I ran from the poultry store to the seafood counter to the supermarket, each stop draining my wallet and my energy. By the time I staggered out with the wine—far pricier than I intended—I was flushed, frantic, and much later than promised.
When I came through the door, arms laden with bags, Marie was waiting, perfectly still, eyes glittering.
“There you are.” Her voice was quiet, but laced with venom. “Do you even realise how long you’ve been gone? Or are you deliberately trying to embarrass me before tonight?”
“No, Marie, the shops were just so busy—”
“Busy?” She let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “That’s your excuse? You always say that. Do you even hear yourself? Every time you’re late, it’s the same story. Don’t you think I notice the pattern?”
I blinked, thrown off balance. “I—I don’t mean—”
“Of course you don’t mean it,” she snapped, cutting across me. “But you do it. You’ve been sitting in some café, chatting with your gay friends haven’t you? Wasting time. Maybe you think I’m too stupid to know where you really go.”
“No, Marie, I swear—”
“You swear?” She tilted her head, smiling without warmth. “You’ve ‘sworn’ before, and yet here we are again. Honestly, I don’t even know why I trust you with simple tasks. Maybe you like making me anxious, is that it? You like watching me suffer while you disappear for hours?”
The accusation stung, absurd as it was, but her eyes pinned me down until doubt crept in. Had I been gone too long? Could I have hurried more?
“Unpack everything,” she said crisply, turning away. “Then clean the living room properly this time. Not the half-hearted job you did last week—I had to redo it myself, though of course you don’t remember that, do you? You never remember.”
My mouth opened, but I stopped. She hadn’t told me she had to redo my effort from last week at the time but now she said it with such certainty that part of me believed her.
“And then lunch,” she added. “Something simple. A tomato and cheese sandwich—though knowing you, that might be ambitious.”
“Yes, Marie.”
Her words slithered into my mind as I worked. The vacuum roared, the polish shone, the dust cloth flew across the mantle, but nothing was enough. She was in my head, whispering doubts: Had I really forgotten last week? Did I take too long? Was I sabotaging her without realising it?
By the time I placed the sandwich in front of her, my hands were trembling. She took one slow bite, watching me with cool satisfaction.
“There,” she murmured. “See what you can do when you try? If only you’d listen the first time.”
And though I knew she was twisting the truth, I felt a pang of guilt anyway—just as she intended.
“I am off to get my nails done, I expect preparations to be complete by the time I return.”
And with that I was left alone.
First job was to iron the tablecloth, and then iron my maid’s uniform for that night. I set the table and then got to work in the kitchen. Time was ticking, and I had to work fast. My hands were shaking so bad I nearly dropped the knife as I sliced the foie gras torchon, the blade catching on my sweaty fingers. The menu’s tacked to the cork-board, glaring at me like a judge: Foie Gras Torchon with Veuve Clicquot, Scallop Ceviche with chilled Sauvignon Blanc, Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Cherry Sauce paired with a French Malbec, Chocolate Lava Cake with Raspberry Coulis and Sauternes. Six dishes for six women, and Marie will expect perfection. My apron’s already smudged with flour, and my heart’s hammering so loud I can’t think straight.
The foie gras is a nightmare—one slip, and it’ll crumble, and Marie will tear me apart if it's not perfect. I’m tweezing micro-greens onto the plates, but my fingers fumble, and one sprig falls. I curse under my breath, imagining their sneers if it’s not perfect. The scallops for the ceviche are next, and I’m slicing so thin I’m terrified I’ll botch it. The Sauvignon Blanc’s in the chiller, but if the ceviche’s off, I’m done for. My head’s a fog. The duck breast is prepped, but I’m dreading the sear—too much, too little, and it’s ruined. The cherry sauce simmers, and I’m stirring like my life depends on it, praying it’s not too sweet or too sharp. The lava cakes are in the oven, and I’m holding my breath, hoping they’ll ooze just right.
The house is quiet, but it’s a trap—the calm before those women storm in, their laughter already echoing in my head. The kitchen’s stifling, the clatter of pans rattling my nerves. I am almost at the stage where I have done all the prep I can do; there will be some last-minute searing of the duck and heating up of the sauce. I will also have to steam some green vegetables, but I can’t do much more at this stage. I make a start on tidying up what I can in the kitchen, and then I hear Marie come home and say,
“30 minutes til the girls arrive. I hope you are close to ready”
“Yes, Marie, I have done all the prep that I can I am just cleaning up now.”
No hello, no thank you, just straight into barking out more commands.
“Get into your maid's uniform and be ready to greet the guests. As each guests arrive, you will welcome them, introduce yourself as bobbie, Marie’s sissy maid and say I am at your service all night. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you want. Then ask if you can take their coat, and then get them a drink straight away. Understood?”
“Yes Marie.” I said sheepishly
“I want this night to be perfect. I want the girls to see how well trained you are. Do not let me down, or there will be consequences you definitely won’t like.”
“Yes Marie.”
“I am going to have a shower and get ready.”
I scurried off to put my uniform on. I wondered what had got into her; she seemed a bit on edge. I would have to be on my best behaviour.
Before I knew it the bell rings and I open the door to greet the first guest. It was Lisa.
Her beauty is as striking as it is intimidating, she exudes a magnetic confidence, her every detail is meticulously curated for this dinner party.
Her statuesque figure is enveloped in a sleek, ivory gown that clings to her curves like a second skin. The dress, with its high neckline and daring keyhole cutout at the chest, is both sophisticated and provocative. Her jet-black hair is styled , probably by Marie and accentuates the sharp angles of her jawline and the warm, honeyed glow of her skin. A pair of diamond drop earrings sways gently as she tilts her head, and a thin, rose-gold bangle gleams on her wrist, its simplicity belying its cost. Her lips, painted a deep berry red, curve into a smile that’s equal parts alluring and menacing, a promise of charm laced with danger. I try not to stare and look away, saying
“Hi, I am bobbie, Marie’s sissy maid.”
“I know, I have heard so much about you from Andy!”
“I am at your service all night. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. Can I take your coat?”
She handed me her coat.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“An Aperol Spritz would be good.”
I turned and headed into the apartment. Marie was in the lounge room and greeted Lisa.
“I’ll have an Aperol Spritz too,” she said.
I took Lisa’s coat into Marie’s bedroom and prepared the drinks as the ladies chatted in the lounge room. I then served the drinks, and the doorbell chimed again.
This time, a tall blonde woman was at the door. She towers over me in a form-fitting, pale gold gown that shimmers. The dress’s one-shoulder design and subtle thigh-high slit accentuate her long, toned legs and graceful posture, exuding both power and poise. Her ash-blonde hair, sleek and straight, falls like a curtain past her shoulders, framing her angular face and sharp, arctic-blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything they survey. Her lips, lightly glossed in a nude shade, curl into a faint, knowing smirk that promises both charm and cutting critique.
Sandy’s towering beauty is intimidating. I only just managed to get my greeting out.
“Hi, I’m bobbie, Marie’s sissymaid. I am at your service all night, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.”
“I am Sandy. I have heard so much about you.”
She said it with a little giggle in an exaggerated tone. She didn’t have a coat so I said,
“Please come in, the ladies are having an Aperol Spritz. Can I get you one of those, or would you prefer something else?”
“An Aperol would be divine bobbie.”
I led her to the ladies' and fetched her drink. Then the other ladies arrived together. Cecily, Eliza and Marianne. After introducing myself, I led them into the lounge room.
Cecily, Marianne, and Eliza glided into the lounge room, each a vision of elegance, their beauty sharpened by the poised cruelty lurking beneath their polished exteriors. At thirty, they carry the confidence of women who know their power, dressed to command attention at this dinner party.
Cecily steps forward, her lithe frame draped in a deep emerald velvet gown that hugs her curves before flaring into a subtle train Her auburn hair is swept into an intricate updo, tendrils framing her sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes. A faint smirk plays on her lips as she adjusts a silk glove, her every movement deliberate, radiating a cool, untouchable allure that dares anyone to challenge her.
Marianne follows, her presence softer but no less commanding, wrapped in a flowing, off-the-shoulder gown of midnight blue silk that shimmers with every step. The dress is cinched at her slender waist with a silver belt, accentuating her statuesque figure. Her golden blonde hair cascades in loose waves, pinned back just enough to reveal sapphire earrings that match her icy blue eyes. Those eyes, framed by long lashes, hold a quiet menace, scanning the room as if cataloguing weaknesses. Her delicate hands, adorned with a single diamond bracelet, betraying none of the tension I know she’s capable of unleashing.
Eliza is a study in bold sophistication, her olive skin glowing against a tailored, scarlet satin dress that clings to her athletic frame, its high slit revealing a flash of leg with every stride. The dress’s structured shoulders and deep V-back lend her an almost regal air, softened only by the cascade of red curls tumbling down her back. She adjusts a cufflink on her sleeve—a nod to her penchant for blending masculine and feminine styles—her confident smile laced with a cruel edge that makes my stomach twist.
I took their drink orders; it was Aperol Spritz all around, and I quickly fetched them.
It wasn’t long before Marie led them all to the dining table and told me to serve the appetiser.
I’m back in the kitchen, pouring the Veuve Clicquot, but my hands shake, and a splash hits the counter. I’m a wreck, flustered, seeing all these glamorous friends of Maries and unravelling with nervous energy before they have even had their first course. I serve the champagne, then come back to get the Fois Gras. Every plate, every garnish, every glass has to be perfect, or I’ll never survive Marie’s judgment.
As I place the last dish before Cecily, she knocks the spoon off the table. I bend to collect the fallen spoon, cheeks warming as the girls’ laughter rippled around her.
“Oh, look at her crawl,” drawled Cecily, swirling her champagne.
“Like a little mouse under the table.”
Marianne clapped her hands. “Do it again! I dropped my napkin.” She flicked it to the floor with deliberate care.
I went around to Marianne’s side of the table, and bent down to pick up the napkin next to her gorgeous red stiletto. I rose, napkin in hand, only for Eliza to sigh dramatically. “Slower, please. You really should learn to curtsy properly while you’re down there.”
Their laughter burst louder this time, cruel and shrill.
“Careful, don’t make her blush,” Cecily whispered loudly enough for me to hear. “Red doesn’t suit her complexion.”
I kept my eyes lowered, fingers trembling as I set the napkin back on the table. Then scurry to the kitchen to get Cecily a clean spoon. Just as I place the spoon back on the table, another fork clattered purposefully to the floor.
“Well?” Marie said sweetly, tapping her plate with a fingernail. “Fetch it. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
“Yes Marie” I said, lost for words.
I stooped again, silently retrieving the fork. As I straightened, Cecily thrust her empty glass toward her.
“More Veuve. And try not to spill it this time. Honestly, it’s not that difficult, even for you.”
I went to the kitchen and fetched the bottle, obeying and pouring carefully. A drop slid down the glass, and Eliza gasped theatrically.
“Oh! She’s crying into your drink, Cecily! How sentimental.”
The laughter roared again, echoing off the walls.
Marianne leaned across the table, chin in her palm. “Tell me, do you even know what you’re serving us? What’s this called? Don’t be shy, speak up.”
The maid’s voice was small, uncertain. “Foie Gras Torchon, Miss Marianne”
“How quaint,” Cecily sneered. “She thinks she knows French.”
“I doubt she can even spell it,” Eliza added. “Go on, spell it, then. Out loud.”
I froze. My lips parted, then closed again, I was so humiliated I couldn’t speak.
“See?” Marianne crowed, clapping her hands. “Hopeless!”
They collapsed into another chorus of laughter.
My knuckles whitened around the empty champagne bottle I still held, but I said nothing, my face stunned and blank..
Cecily leaned back, satisfied. “Well, at least she’s useful for one thing.” She flicked her spoon onto the floor again. “Go on, little mouse. Pick it up.”
After I picked it up, I retreated back to the kitchen.
set the bottle down too hard on the counter, the sharp clink of glass ringing louder than I meant. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My face burned, though the room was cool, and I kept pressing my palms to my cheeks as if I could wipe the heat away.
I could still hear them laughing, even here, muffled by the kitchen walls. It clung to me like smoke, stinging and sour. Every word they’d thrown at me seemed to stick to my skin: mouse, hopeless, stupid. I wanted to scrub them off, to peel myself clean of their voices, but they lingered no matter how I shook my head.
For a moment I just stood there, staring at the platters lined up for the next course. My throat felt thick, as if I’d swallowed a stone. If I let myself cry, I knew I wouldn’t stop, and the food would grow cold, and they’d only have more to mock. So I bit the inside of my lip until the sting steadied me.
I wished, more than anything, to be invisible. If I could slip through the cracks in the floorboards, vanish into the shadows of the larder, I would. But I had to go back out there, tray in hand, smile fixed, as though nothing had happened. As though I were made of wood, not flesh.
The cruelest part was knowing I’d do it — that I’d step through that door again when they rang the bell, bow my head, and serve them like the obedient little creature they wanted me to be. Because what choice did I have?
Marie rang the bell for me to come and take the dirty plates away, then serve the next course. Glasses had to be taken away and new glasses filled with Sauvignon Blanc for the scallops. I was largely ignored through this course as the ladies conversation became a little louder. It sounded like the champagne was having an effect. I started on the dishes while they ate and waited for the command to serve the main course. Again it meant clearing away the glasses and filling fresh glasses with the Malbec.
The silver tray felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I carried it back into the dining room. I kept my eyes fixed on the floorboards, steadying each step the way Marie had drilled into me: back straight, shoulders down, no sound but the soft tap of shoes on the rug.
“Ah, there she is,” Marie announced, her voice light but sharp with amusement. “My little jewel. You see how well trained she is, ladies? Watch.”
My stomach tightened, but I moved to her side, lowering the tray just as she liked. She plucked a dish from it without even glancing at me, then snapped her fingers. I set the plate down before her with both hands, carefully, praying it wouldn’t rattle against the porcelain.
“Perfect,” she cooed, though her smile was for her friends, not me. “She knows every movement by heart. I hardly have to say a word.”
“Like a performing dog,” Cecily said, and they all laughed.
Marie tilted her head, savouring the moment. “Go on, show them how prettily you serve. Pour Eliza’s wine — nice and slow.”
I stepped to Eliza’s side, bottle poised. My hands didn’t tremble this time; I forced them still with every ounce of will I had. The wine filled her glass in a steady stream.
“See?” Marie clapped softly, as though I were a child. “Not a drop spilled. Isn’t she clever?”
The girls applauded, laughing harder now. Heat burned in my chest, but I bowed my head as Marie caught my chin between two fingers and tilted my face upward.
“She doesn’t even flinch,” she told them, pride glowing in her tone. “Obedience is an art, and she’s my masterpiece.”
I swallowed hard and let her hold me there, my face displayed like a prize. I could taste the humiliation like ashes on my tongue, but I dared not move. Not while they were watching. Not while she was smiling.
Marie released my chin at last, and I bowed quickly, grateful for the brief freedom. But she wasn’t finished.
“Now, watch closely,” she said, her voice lilting with pride. “She knows how to stand perfectly still, no matter what. Don’t you, my dear?”
I froze where I was, hands clasped before me, head slightly bent. My heart pounded, but I kept my breathing shallow, just as she’d taught me.
“Marvellous,” Cecily murmured, reaching across the table to pluck a grape from her plate. She held it between two fingers. “Open your mouth, little one.”
My lips parted before I had time to think — instinct, drilled into me. She placed the grape on my tongue as though feeding a bird, then laughed. “Oh, Marie, you’ve trained her like a pet.”
“She is a pet,” Eliza chimed in, eyes glittering. “Make her sit by your chair. Let’s see how tame she really is.”
Marie arched an eyebrow, considering, then patted the carpet beside her. “Kneel.”
The command was soft, almost affectionate, but I felt every muscle in my body stiffen. I lowered myself slowly, carefully, until I was kneeling at her side, the hem of her gown brushing my shoulder.
The girls clapped in delight.
“Adorable!” Marianne squealed. “She could almost be a statue. Look at her posture — so docile!”
“Does she stay there the whole meal?” Cecily asked.
“Only when I wish to make an impression,” Marie replied smoothly, resting her hand lightly on my head. “She never dares move unless I give leave.”
Their laughter was sharper now, their amusement rising.
“Have her pour the sauce from there,” Eliza suggested, mischief curling in her tone. “From her knees. That would be charming.”
Marie’s smile widened. “You heard her.”
I had to crawl around on my knees and I rose just enough to reach the tureen, my hands steady despite the flush crawling up my neck. I poured carefully, silently, the steam clouding my eyes.
“Exquisite!” Cecily clapped again. “It’s like a little performance. Truly, Marie, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“And the best part,” Marie said sweetly, stroking my hair as though I were a favoured dog, “is that she doesn’t complain. Not a word. That’s true discipline.”
Their laughter pealed once more, ringing in my ears as I lowered my head and placed the ladle back, heat burning my skin like a brand. I felt myself shrinking smaller and smaller with each sound, until I was nothing more than an object at their table — a showpiece to be displayed, mocked, and admired.
I was dismissed after that and was again basically ignored while serving dessert. Dessert plates were cleared, and I thought—foolishly—that the worst of the evening was over. I gathered the last tray, eager to vanish back into the kitchen. But Eliza’s voice cut through the chatter like a knife.
“Marie,” she said slyly, “is it true you keep your little maid under… special restraints?”
The laughter around the table quieted into a hush of expectation. My blood ran cold.
Marie’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh, you’ve heard about that, have you?”
Eliza leaned forward, eyes glittering. “I simply must see. Tell me it isn’t a rumour.”
My breath caught. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, praying Marie would dismiss it, wave it off as idle gossip. Instead, her hand drifted to my shoulder.
“Show them,” she said softly, almost tenderly.
My stomach dropped.
I set the tray down with trembling fingers. Slowly, I tugged at the hem of my apron, pulled down my panties and revealed the pink chastity cage I was locked in. A little padlock securing it in place, gleaming in the candlelight, the key long gone from my keeping.
A chorus of delighted gasps and laughter filled the room.
“Oh, heavens, it’s real!” Cecily exclaimed, clapping her hands. “She actually wears it!”
“Like a child’s leash,” Marianne giggled. “How precious.”
Eliza tilted her head, smirking. “And she can’t remove it herself? Oh, Marie, you are cruel.”
Heat flooded my face as they leaned closer, eyes drinking in my humiliation. I wanted to disappear, to sink into the carpet and never rise again.
“Imagine,” Cecily said with mock pity, “being trusted so little you must wear a lock on your very clothes. It’s almost—” she laughed—“as though she isn’t a person at all, but property.”
Their laughter rang out, sharp and merciless. I clutched the edge of my apron with shaking hands, wishing I could tear free, but knowing I would only prove their point.
Marie stroked my shoulder, her voice sweet as honey.
“Without it, she would be playing with it all the time, it is too much of a distraction isn’t it bobbi?”
“Yes Marie.” My voice was choking up in shame but I managed to answer.
“You see? Perfect obedience. She accepts it without complaint. That’s why she’s mine.”
The room erupted again, their voices buzzing in my ears, until all I could hear was the cruel chorus: mine, mine, mine.
I bowed my head lower, swallowing the bitter taste of shame, the lock’s weight pressing heavy against me — heavier than chains.
“I can’t believe how small she is to fit into that tiny cage, Andy wouldn’t get the head of his cock in that.” said Lisa, laughing as she said it.
“So small” echoed Cecily, humiliating me further.
The lock clicked faintly as I squirmed under this humiliation, and the sound seemed to delight them all over again.
“Oh, listen to that!” Cecily cried. “She jingles like a toy. Do it again—move, little one.”
I obeyed, stepping forward, the tiny rattle of metal betraying me. Their laughter burst sharp and bright.
“Marvellous,” Eliza said. “She’s like a wind-up doll. Shake her and she makes music.”
“Let’s play a game,” Marianne suggested, mischief flashing in her eyes. “Whoever hears the lock first when she walks gets another glass of wine.”
They cheered at the idea, and Marie, smiling indulgently, tapped my arm. “Go on then, my dear. Around the table, nice and slow.”
My throat tightened, but I circled the table as commanded, each step deliberate. The faint chime of the clasp betrayed me again and again, and each time, one of them clapped or laughed out loud, declaring they’d “won.”
“Honestly,” Cecily said through her giggles, “it’s like parading a pet in a collar. Next you’ll be teaching her tricks.”
Marie’s smile sharpened. “Oh, she knows a few.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Kneel.”
The word fell like a weight. I sank down at her side, the belt digging into my waist as the lock caught the light.
“Splendid!” Eliza leaned forward eagerly. “Now make her bow her head each time you say her name. That will be amusing.”
“Very well,” Marie said smoothly, stroking my hair. “Won’t you, little one?”
I bowed low, forehead nearly to the carpet, then straightened again, my face burning.
“Marie,” Marianne prompted with a grin.
I bowed again.
“Marie!” Cecily crowed.
Another bow.
They burst into shrieks of laughter, calling the name over and over until I felt dizzy with the motion, my cheeks hot, my back aching. Still, I obeyed. I had no choice.
At last, Marie raised her hand, and I stilled. Her fingers brushed the lock at my waist, and she addressed her friends with triumphant pride.
“You see, ladies? Not only is she locked, but her spirit is locked as well. Body and will, both mine to command.”
Their cheers and laughter rang in my ears, each sound a lash I could not escape. I kept my eyes on the floor, heart hammering, praying the torment would end before I shattered.
The night went on for another hour or so. I had to drive the ladies home. AS we were walking out the door, Lisa said,
“I will have to borrow bobbi one day, to help me with my chores.”
The others all said “Me too”. As the laughter intermingled with the hugs and kisses goodbye.
“We’ll see”, said Marie.
I started to wonder how much worse this could get for me.