A story of Petticoat Love by Missy Sissy Bottoms!
IN THE PANTRY
I have been a devotee of "lacy things" (petticoats & rumba panties) for so many wonderful years. All and any feminine clothing that is especially frilly, fluffy, and lacy and feminine-flashy have been the best things in the world. From the clothes of the fifties when girls wore petticoats as a matter of fashion to ballerinas with their fantastic tutus -- they just blew my mind! However, once I saw my first French maid I knew that I was hooked. I soon owned several very sissified French maid outfits. I discussed my penchant with my wife, but she wasn't particularly interested in participating; however, she understood my feelings and, in essence, told me to "have fun".
My wife never questioned my secret closet that was soon filled with sissy clothes. It was just something that she preferred not to discuss, although she never questioned either my manhood or my secret life style.
chance I got from then on, especially when she is out shopping,
working late, taking a business trip or just visiting, I become
"Missy". She knows that I do and simply lets me do my
thing. We never talk about it, as it is just a given. Thus my
wife enjoys herself even more because while she's out of the
house I do all of the cleaning , and, when she comes home, it's
sparkling clean and organized house. She knows that I do wear women's clothing when I clean the house, but she had no idea as to the extent of my wardrobe and the extent of my commitment. That commitment is simple: I go the whole nine yards when I'm the maid, as my uniforms are extremely sissy, short, frilly, fluffy, lacy and oh! so sexy, and are a combination SISSY- FEMININE- GIRL- PET-PANSY.
I assume the personality, persona and presentation equal to my
outfit. I am quite feminine, very sissified and extremely happy.
I believe that I am actually pretty and, because I am not a large
male, and I have acquired the mannerisms, movements and
expressions of a young girl, I am quite believable as a female.
Normally I wear either a tight, nearly transparent blouse, or a
clingy dress that emphasizes and shows off my breasts (silicone,
of course, but enough to
make me cry for happy). I wear lace wrist and ankle cuffs, the very short skirts are designed to show off the abundance of silk lacy petticoats. Neither my petticoats (always worn very short), nor my dress, effectively hide my ruffled panties. My long, slender legs (I keep them shaved) are well-shaped and quite attractive, especially when I'm wearing black silk stockings. So with a frothy, but little lacy maid's apron and pert, little lacy maid's cap, I am quite the young lady who has been "collared and cuffed" into domestic servitude.
I even make up my face fully (which I am rather good at) and, with high heels clicking, hips rolling, short, mincing steps and my pink feather duster dusting, I am quite a lovely sissy-boy-girl. I sing and skip around as I clean, blowing kisses, blushing, giggling in my own fantasy world. I am an excellent housekeeper, and rarely is my wife not satisfied with my performance.
Normally I have time to change before my wife comes home. I will watch the time carefully, so I won't be caught with my pants down and off and replaced with girlie panties. Most of the time, she will call before she comes home to ask me (1) if I'm having a good time, (2) if all of my little household duties are done and (3) to tell me that she was on her way home and when she would get there. This gives me a chance to change, although I delay changing until the last minute.
One Saturday this past summer, I was so engrossed on being Missy I forgot the time, and she had forgotten to call when I heard the front door open and women's voices drifting back to the kitchen where I was finishing tidying up. I realized immediately that she was home and not alone. It turned out that her sister and one of her girl friends had decided to come back to the house with her for a cup of coffee. I was in the kitchen with no escape route. I barely had time to hide in the small pantry nook which is in a little out-of-the-way alcove off the kitchen. It has only one entrance and is quite open, but can't be seen unless one walks to the end of the kitchen and looked around the corner. It was a dead end though. I couldn't hide. I couldn't change. I couldn't escape. I couldn't move. My face was fully made-up and my outfit so "oh-la-la." I did the only thing I could do: I started to cry.
I was shaking like a leaf, firmly believing that I would be exposed and humiliated and embarrassed beyond belief. I had the good sense to walk quietly on my two-inch heels and to contain my sissy sobs so that they were more than muffled. My breathing was hard, but I quickly gained control of myself and waited.
thinking, my wife brought them directly into the kitchen. I froze
near panic as I heard them in the kitchen only within feet of my
position. Thankfully, the women immediately sat down at the
kitchen table which couldn't be seen (and vice versa) from the
pantry while my wife made coffee. As the coffee was stored in the
pantry, she had to go there. "Voila!" Who was standing
there, nearly in tears, shaking like a leaf and on the verge of
panic! It was I, and it must have made a shocking discovery. The
look of shock on her face at my presence and at my outfit quickly
turned to amusement as she realized that she hadn't called. She
smiled a really wicked smile and left me standing there like a
frightened pansy during a windstorm. I had to choke back tears,
afraid that I would burst out. I felt so soft and weak all over,
except for one significant part of me. The women had several cups
of coffee and discussed quite a few intimate thoughts and several
items of a purely feminine nature. I could hear everything, and I
would have been shocked and embarrassed, but I was too nervous. I
simply had to stand there, completely vulnerable and "little
kitten" frightened. My wife decided that she would have some fun with me and scare me even more than I already was. She told them how I did all of the cleaning, although she didn't mention how I was dressed when I cleaned the house. Her sister raved that a man, any man, would be so compliant and considerate. Her girl friend laughed. My sister-in-law was shocked to hear that I did all of the housecleaning as well as the laundry, ironing, etc. Her girl friend called me "well-trained". My sister-in-law was really interested to learn that my wife did nothing domestic including taking care of her own wardrobe when "I did such a wonderful job".
My wife made several intimations that only I realized that she was trying to embarrass me even more than I already was. She was actually flirting with the truth, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she had sent her sister into the pantry "to get something." She told the women that I was an excellent housekeeper, almost like a maid (and she did use that word). That she only had to write down tasks for me to do, and I would quickly obey (she emphasized the word). Her sister opined that maybe I was a sissy at heart. "Who cares," said my wife, "I love him and he's terrific."
My wife's friend left, but my sister-in-law lingered for over an hour. I had to stand there as quiet as a mouse, a little girl mouse at that. After she left, my wife laughed and laughed and then allowed me to go upstairs and change. She followed me up the stairs and made comments about my ruffled derriere, the bounce of my petticoats, the cute little walk I had and that she never realized what a pretty husband she had. I loved it but was afraid to tell her the feelings that swept over me.
My wife still doesn't participate in my domestic life except to give me orders. I WOULD LOVE TO TELL MY WIFE THAT I WANTED A REPEAT PERFORMANCE. She must have assumed that I rather enjoyed myself. She has made comments about how she "wouldn't" always call before she came home and she "wouldn't" always be alone and she "may" come in from either the front of the house or the back. "Maybe," she has mentioned that I would have to serve her and her sister on the front veranda As for my sister-in-law, when I see her now she will ask if all of my "little" household work is done. She will smile (actually smirk) at me. I will catch her staring at me and I realize what she must be thinking. I also get the feeling that she quickly picks up on any (un) masculine activity, remark, etc. that I make. She doesn't really suspect, but I think she's awfully close to it. I have caught her looking at me in such a way that I believe she is mentally undressing me. I fantasize that she is trying to picture me in a French maid's uniform.
This is a
true experience but, "unfortunately" it hasn't been
repeated and I do want it to happen again, only I want my wife to
have her sister make the coffee. Missy Sissy Bottoms
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