The Making of a French Maid in Paris: Part 3 (Patreon)

          The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, nudging Claude awake. The memory of the night before lingered, vivid and electrifying. His body still tingled with the thrill of his transformation, and the snug pressure of the chastity device heightened the sensations. On the bedside table, the card seemed to gleam, its elegant script a silent command.

         Gathering his courage, Claude reached for his phone. His fingers trembled as he dialed the number on the card, the soft hum of the chastity belt a constant reminder of his growing excitement. The line rang once before a voice answered, sharp and commanding.

"Sissy Maid Academy. This is Mistress Annette speaking."

           Claude's breath hitched, the undeniable authority in her tone sending a jolt through his already heightened state. His pulse quickened, and the snug confines of the device seemed to press tighter against him. Swallowing hard, he managed to speak. "Good morning, Mistress Annette. My name is Claude. I was given this card yesterday and—"

           "Stop," Mistress Annette interrupted, her voice cold but tantalizingly firm. "From the moment you dialed this number, you ceased to be ‘Claude.’ At my academy, you will be known as ‘Sissy.’ Is that clear?"

           Claude blinked, her words cutting through his thoughts like a whip. The chastity belt felt like it was burning against his skin, amplifying every emotion as he whispered, "Y-yes, Mistress Annette."

           "Good," she said crisply. "You will address me as Mistress at all times. You will learn to obey without question. If you wish to be trained at my academy, you will submit fully to our rules and expectations. Is that understood, Sissy?"

            Claude's heart thudded against his chest, the tension in his body unbearable yet exhilarating. He shifted slightly, the cage pressing against him with every movement. "Yes, Mistress," he whispered.

             "Speak up," Mistress Annette snapped, her tone razor-sharp, sending a thrill down his spine. "You will answer me clearly and respectfully at all times. Try again."

             "Yes, Mistress!" Claude said louder, the name she bestowed upon him feeling foreign but intensely thrilling on his tongue.

             "Much better," she said, her tone softening slightly, though her authority remained palpable. "Now, why have you called?"

            "I—I want to enroll in your academy, Mistress. I want to learn and...become the person I’m meant to be," Claude stammered, his voice trembling with emotion.

           Mistress Annette paused, and the silence was deafening. Claude’s entire body was alive, the belt constraining him as his arousal surged. Then came a hum of approval, low and deliberate.

           "Your desire pleases me, Sissy," she said, her voice curling around him like velvet chains. "However, desire alone is not enough. At my academy, you will be tested, shaped, and polished into perfection. Do you think you are ready for that?"

            "Yes, Mistress," Claude replied, his resolve trembling yet firm, the physical ache in his cage mirroring the mental struggle he felt.

           "Excellent," Mistress Annette said, her voice like a velvet whip. "You will come to the academy this afternoon for an introduction. Do not be late.

           "Yes, Mistress. Thank you," Claude said, feeling a mix of fear and exhilaration at her strictness. The cage throbbed against him, a maddeningly constant reminder of the control she already wielded.

           "Good. The address is on the card, and I will send you a follow-up email. Do not disappoint me, Sissy," Mistress Annette said, her voice carrying a finality that made it clear the call was over. The line clicked, leaving Claude holding the phone in trembling hands, the tension in his body both unbearable and intoxicating.

            Claude sat in bed, waiting for the email scrolling absentmindedly when the notification for the email arrived. An email from Mistress Annette. His pulse quickened as he clicked it open, the message written in her unmistakably firm tone:

Subject: Your Attendance Today
Sissy,
Today, you will attend the academy fully dressed in your proper attire. There is no time or room for you to change upon arrival. You will leave your home as the sissy maid you are training to become.

This includes:

• Your French maid uniform (complete with all accessories)

• Full makeup and wig

• Proper lingerie beneath your attire

• Painted nails (hands and feet)

I trust you will not disappoint me. Failure to comply will result in dismissal.

Mistress Annette

           Claude’s heart raced as he reread the email, his palms growing clammy. Leaving the house dressed as a sissy maid? The thought sent a shiver of both dread and excitement through him. This was a step he hadn’t anticipated taking so soon.

            But Mistress Annette had made it clear: there was no room for negotiation. He would have to do it. Swallowing his nerves, Claude resolved to prepare himself fully.

            The email from Mistress Annette playing over and over in his mind. The command had been explicit: he was to arrive at the academy fully dressed as a sissy maid. No changing upon arrival, no easing into the role. The thought of stepping outside his home dressed so provocatively made him squirm, and not just from nervousness—the chastity belt he wore beneath his clothes pressed snugly against him, a constant reminder of his submission. The snug, unyielding fit had grown both familiar and maddening, heightening his every sensation and making each movement feel charged.

             He began his preparations with a long, hot shower, letting the steam envelop his smooth hairless skin. When he was finished, he stepped out and dried himself with a fluffy towel, then applied a light layer of floral-scented lotion. The fragrance of lavender and roses lingered in the air, soft and delicate, heightening his sense of vulnerability and femininity.

             His dressing began with lingerie. Sliding a pair of black satin panties up his legs, he adjusted them carefully to fit over the chastity belt. The silky fabric clung snugly, and the contrast between the soft satin and the hard metal of the belt sent a shiver through him. He bit his lip as the panties settled into place, the fabric doing little to dull the constant reminder of his restrained state.

            Next, he fastened a lacy black garter belt around his waist, its straps dangling against his thighs. He took his time rolling the first fishnet stocking up his leg, feeling the delicate mesh glide over his freshly shaved skin. The texture was tantalizing, almost maddening, as he clipped it to the garter strap with trembling fingers. He repeated the process on the other leg, his arousal mounting, but the unyielding chastity belt kept him firmly in check.

            Sliding his arms through the straps of a padded bra, he adjusted it until it fit snugly against his chest. The illusion of soft, rounded curves was striking, and as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile, despite the heat blooming in his cheeks. The weight of the bra against his body added to the illusion, making him feel complete. Yet every motion caused the belt to press against him anew, and he squirmed, unable to find relief from its constant presence.

             When it came time for the dress, he took a deep breath and retrieved the French maid uniform from its hanger. The fabric was soft and luxurious in his hands, almost soothing. He stepped into the dress, pulling it up and over his body. The snug bodice hugged his frame, accentuating his shape, while the flared skirt ended just above the tops of his stockings. Every movement as he tied the white apron around his waist sent the lace and fabric swishing against him, teasingly brushing the edges of the belt beneath. The crisp bow at the back added the final touch, its perfection a contrast to his restless nerves.

             Next, he slipped into a pair of black patent leather heels. As he stood, the height of the shoes forced him to adjust his posture, tilting his hips forward and straightening his back. The chastity belt shifted slightly with the motion, making him gasp and press his thighs together instinctively, but there was no escape from its restraint. The clicking sound of the heels as he took a few tentative steps sent a thrill through him, a bold reminder of the persona he was about to embody.

            Moving to the vanity, he positioned the blonde wig on his head. The silky strands fell in soft waves around his face, framing his features in a way that was undeniably feminine. He adjusted it carefully, running his fingers through the hair, ensuring it hung perfectly. The transformation was striking, but the constant ache from the belt kept him grounded, a simultaneous torment and reminder of his submission.

           Next, he began his makeup, taking his time with each step. He started with concealer, dabbing it under his eyes and on any imperfections, blending it until his skin looked smooth and even. He followed with foundation, smoothing the creamy liquid over his face with a sponge. Each motion was deliberate, almost meditative, though every shift of his body reminded him of the belt’s unrelenting hold. Once his complexion was flawless, he added a touch of blush to his cheeks. The soft pink hue brought a delicate warmth to his face, enhancing his newfound femininity.

           Turning his attention to his eyes, he carefully applied a shimmering pale gold eyeshadow to his lids, blending it out with a deeper brown shade to add depth. As he leaned in to line his eyes with black eyeliner, the belt pressed firmly against him again, and he squirmed, biting his lip to suppress a frustrated sigh. The mascara came next, and with each stroke, his lashes grew longer and more dramatic. His eyes now appeared larger, softer, and more alluring.

           Finally, he picked up the red lipstick, its bold shade a symbol of confidence and submission all at once. As he carefully painted it onto his lips, his reflection transformed even further. The lipstick made his mouth look full and inviting. A layer of clear gloss added the final touch, giving his lips a wet, irresistible sheen.

           When he was done, Claude leaned back and gazed at his reflection. The person staring back at him was breathtaking. Sissy wasn’t just a persona—it was who he was becoming. Yet even in this moment of beauty, the constant ache of the chastity belt kept him grounded, a stark reminder of his place and his submission.

            He slipped on a pair of delicate lace gloves and picked up his small black clutch bag, which held his essentials. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the house and stepped out.

          The sound of his heels clicking against the floor echoed loudly, each step amplifying his nervous excitement. He placed on the largest coat he had as he turned the corner, the belt shifted with every motion, teasing him relentlessly.

         He had chosen his longest coat, a sleek black trench that fell past his knees, in an attempt to conceal his outfit. Even so, the hem of his French maid dress peeked out slightly when he moved, and the delicate lace of his stockings was visible whenever the coat shifted with his steps. The sharp clicking of his heels against the pavement felt deafening, each sound ricocheting through his chest like a drumbeat of anxiety.

          He glanced around nervously, pulling the coat tighter around him as he began to walk. The cool morning air nipped at his exposed thighs, making him acutely aware of how little he was truly covered. His blonde wig swayed with every step, and though he kept his head down, he couldn’t ignore the eyes he felt on him.

“Nice legs!” someone called out from across the street.

            Claude’s face flushed crimson. He clenched the collar of his coat, wishing he could disappear, but his heels clicked on, betraying his presence with every step. A group of teenagers nearby burst into laughter as one of them nudged their friend and pointed in his direction.

“Is that… a maid?” one of them said, barely stifling a giggle.

           Claude felt his stomach churn, his cheeks burning hotter than ever. He wanted to run, but the heels made such a thing impossible. He settled for quickening his pace, the coat flaring slightly behind him as his strides grew more frantic. Each step seemed to amplify the clicks of his heels, drawing more attention. A passerby, an older woman with a small dog, gave him a once-over and muttered something under her breath.

          Claude didn’t catch what she said, but the disapproving tone was enough to make him duck his head even further. He bit his lip, his painted nails digging into the palms of his gloved hands as he fought to maintain composure. The chastity belt beneath his outfit pressed uncomfortably with every step, a reminder of his submission that seemed to echo the vulnerability he now felt in public.

          “Love the outfit!” a man shouted sarcastically as he passed by on a bicycle, his laughter trailing behind him.

          Claude swallowed hard, his throat dry. The academy was just ahead, the ornate iron gate visible at the end of the block. He focused on it like a lifeline, his heels continuing their relentless rhythm. With each click, he told himself to keep going, to push through the embarrassment and fear. He was Sissy now—this was part of who he was, part of the transformation he had chosen to embrace.

          But the sniggers, the comments, the stares—it was all overwhelming. As he passed another group of people, one of them whispered loudly, “What’s he even doing dressed like that?” followed by a burst of laughter.

          Claude felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He took a deep, shaky breath and straightened his back, even as his face remained a deep shade of red. The gate was just a few steps away now, and beyond it, he knew, was the safety of the academy—a place where he wouldn’t be judged, where he could fully embrace his true self without fear.

           Reaching the gate, he paused to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands trembled as he pushed it open and stepped inside, the click of his heels fading as the gate creaked shut behind him. The noise of the street seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet, almost sacred atmosphere of the academy grounds.

             For the first time since he left his apartment, Claude dared to lift his head. His face was still flushed, but as he took in the sight of the imposing building before him, a sense of determination filled him. He had made it. Despite the stares, the comments, and the humiliation, he had arrived.

          He took one final, steadying breath before heading up the path toward the front doors, the click of his heels on the polished stone now carrying a different weight—not of anxiety, but of resolve.

        He knocked on the door, and the woman from the sex shop opened it, Mistress Annette.

            As Claude stepped inside the grand manor, Mistress Annette’s sharp eyes immediately locked onto him, her lips curling into a faint smirk. She could see every subtle movement of his body—the slight squirm of his hips, the way he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It didn’t take her long to notice the cause.

           "Ah," she said, her voice smooth but laced with amusement. "You’re squirming, Sissy. How delightful. I see you’ve come properly locked for your training."

          Claude’s cheeks flushed deep red as her gaze flicked downward, her words sending a wave of embarrassment through him. His chastity belt had been a constant presence since he’d left the apartment, pressing insistently against him with every step, every movement, and now it was the focus of her attention.

           Mistress Annette leaned closer, her heels clicking as she circled him. "Does it feel tight?" she asked, her voice teasing, her eyes glinting with mischief. "It should. That belt is your reminder of what you are—a sissy maid in training. And a sissy maid does not indulge herself. She serves."

           Claude swallowed hard, his body growing hotter under her penetrating gaze. He nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

"Speak up," Mistress Annette snapped. "Do you feel restrained, Sissy?"

"Y-yes, Mistress," Claude stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

           "Good," she purred, tapping the belt lightly with the riding crop she carried. "You’ll get used to it. For now, it will teach you discipline—and I’ll be watching to ensure it does."

           The session began with Mistress Annette commanding him to curtsey, demonstrating the graceful motion herself. Claude mimicked her as best he could, his hands trembling slightly as he grasped the edges of his short skirt. But as he bent his knees, the chastity belt shifted uncomfortably, pressing against him in a way that made him squirm.

           "Stop fidgeting!" Mistress Annette snapped, her tone sharp. She tapped the belt with the crop again, making him freeze. "Ah, but I see why you’re struggling." Her smile turned wicked. "You’ll have to learn to move gracefully despite the…distraction. Again."

           Claude attempted the curtsey once more, this time with more focus. The chastity belt remained an unrelenting presence, but he tried to ignore the pressure as he dipped his knees and lowered his head.

            "Better," Mistress Annette said, though the amusement in her tone hadn’t faded. "But don’t think I didn’t see that little squirm. How adorable."

           The rest of the session was equally demanding. As Mistress Annette drilled him on sitting posture, dusting techniques, and polishing surfaces, she never missed a single moment of his discomfort.

            When he sat as instructed, keeping his knees together and his hands folded neatly, the chastity belt pressed even harder against him, making him shift slightly on the chair.

           "Ah, there it is again," Mistress Annette observed, tapping the armrest of the chair with her crop. "That little wriggle. Tell me, Sissy, does it ache?"

         Claude’s cheeks burned as he nodded, his voice barely audible. "Yes, Mistress."

         She leaned in close, her perfume enveloping him as she whispered, "Good. That ache is your reminder of who you are. And every time it makes you squirm, it will remind you who you serve."

         Later, as she handed him the polish and duster, Claude knelt to begin shining the low table before him. The position forced the chastity belt to press against him more firmly, and he had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a soft whimper.

          "Don’t think I didn’t notice that," Mistress Annette said, her voice like silk. "How sweet. Even a simple task like polishing makes you feel it, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, Mistress," Claude admitted, his voice trembling.

          She chuckled, circling him as he worked. "Good. That’s exactly as it should be. A sissy maid should feel her place at all times—every movement, every task, a constant reminder of her submission."

           By the end of the session, Claude was thoroughly exhausted. His legs ached from the heels, his arms were sore from the polishing, and the unrelenting pressure of the chastity belt had left him flushed and restless. Mistress Annette stood before him, her eyes gleaming with approval as she assessed him.

          "You’ve done well, Sissy," she said, her tone still strict but softer than before. "But don’t think I didn’t see every little squirm and shift. That belt will teach you discipline in time. Until then, I’ll enjoy watching you struggle."

            Claude’s face burned as he curtsied deeply, his movements more polished than when he’d first arrived. "Thank you, Mistress," he whispered.

"Good girl," she said, her smirk returning. "Now go. Rest up—you’ll need it for our next session. And remember, that belt stays on. Always."

          As Claude stepped out of the manor and onto the quiet street, the weight of the day’s training settled over him. The constant ache of the chastity belt still teased him with every step, but instead of shame, he now felt a strange pride. He was learning, growing, becoming the sissy maid he was meant to be.