With a girl on each wrist, Prissy tripped over to the full length mirror and the black scarf was removed.
He blinked his long lashes and stared at the image of a sexy, pretty, French Maid!
The girls rolled on the floor with laughter as they saw his surprised and alarmed look.
Prissy wore the authentic uniform of an alluring, flirtatious French Maid.
The black satin dress was trimmed in white lace around the scooped neckline, short puffed sleeves, and hem of the very short skirt, which was held out at a wide angle by stiff, short, white petticoats.
A white taffeta, full bibbed apron lay on the front of the dress, and appeared like a pinafore due to the wide lace ruffles that trimmed the straps over Prissy’s shoulders, and met at the rear waistline in a large bow.
His waist was neat and trim, due to the compression of the boned, black satin corset the girls had forced him to wear.
Prissy’s black patent leather pumps were indeed five inches tall, perching his feet on heels tips smaller than a pencil eraser.
His hose was sheer black silk, with a seam running up the back.
A lacy cap had been pinned into the curly mane of long blonde hair, and he again wore the dangling gold earrings from the previous evening.
His makeup was spectacular: bright red lips, dark, dramatic eyes, and brightly rouged cheeks.
Prissy’s inch long nails had been replaced with inch and a half, narrow, red spikes, and she had been liberally perfumed.
The dress and makeup created such a new look that Prissy looked like an entirely different person than the Prom Princess from the night before.
Janet regained her composure sufficiently to turn Prissy around and bend him over revealing a multitude of white lace ruffles on the sheer nylons panties covering his bottom.
The final touches were the words embroidered in black script on the front of his apron: “Sissy Maid”.
Prissy again found himself at a loss to gain any control over the situation.
And as on Friday afternoon, he stood submissively before the mirror and allowed the girls to crowd about, teasing and laughing at his effeminate image.
He was ordered to model his uniform for them, allowing his hands to dangle limply from his wrists, or primping his hair, and further instruction in walking with heels, ensued.
“If you’ll stop trying to take large steps like a boy, Prissy, you’ll have no problem swishing about in your pretty shoes!” coached Catherine.
Having experienced wearing heels for hours the day before, Prissy was soon mincing about in the five inch spikes without too much difficulty.
Janet ultimately quieted her friends down, and stood Prissy in front of the mirror once more while she explained his duties for the day.
“Now you’re a grown up girl Prissy. See how much progress you’ve made in such a short time?
Today you’ll serve us as our maid.
We tried to think of some other suitable position for you, but none came to mind!” she teased.
“So from now on you will address each of us by our name, preceded by the title `Miss’.
That’s a nice sweet way for a maid to address pretty girls like us, don’t you think? The rules are that you don’t speak unless spoken to.
When you do speak you will always do so in an appropriately girlish and respectful voice.
You will curtsey each and every time you are spoken to, and each and every time you enter or leave a room.
The earlier rules also apply. You are a GIRL! And a serving GIRL at that!
Anything that belies your femininity or subservience will result in demerits, and punishment.
Oh, and one last thing.
Remember in your little speech on Friday?
When you told everyone how when a girl gets a real job `All she does is worry if her stockings have runs, or if her makeup is on straight!’
Well you’ve got a real job now, and we expect the same from you.
I’m afraid that if you get a run in your stockings we’ll have to extend your time in skirts though.
What do you say girls? How about one more day as a girl for each inch of a run in her precious stockings?”
“Sure”, replied Sally.
“And that should go for her makeup too. If her lipstick needs a touch up and we have to point it out to her I think she should get another day as well!” “Right”, added Janet.
“But remember Prissy, if you perform as expected, and required, we’ll even give you the videotape and pictures we took. But until then, you’re on duty, got it, Miss Prissy?”
Prissy stood there and easily realized the challenge he was faced with.
But somehow he saw a light at the end of the tunnel.
It’s only one more day, he thought.
If I can handle this I’ll get the tape back and can put this entire weekend behind me.
And of course, there was revenge. He didn’t know how, or when, but he knew he would have his.
Grasping his skirts with both hands, Prissy dropped a neat little curtsey, and said “Yes, Miss Janet.
I understand”, in a girlishly high voice that sent the others into a fit of laughter.
Of course, if he scowled or expressed any displeasure at all, he knew he’d be punished.
Prissy figured he was learning their game. So he stood there quietly, hands folded neatly on his apron, and waited for their next command.
Bathing and dressing four girls is a lot of work, and Prissy learned that first hand in the next 2 1/2 hours.
Starting with Janet, he drew a warm bath, bathed and sponged them, dried and powdered them, performed a pedicure and manicure, and assisted in dressing the girls.
He knew he was continuously in danger of violating one of their rules, and was mindful to constantly check his lipstick, and carefully protect his stockings from any contact that might cause a run.
He had been given a compact mirror and lipstick which Prissy placed in a small pocket in his apron.
The girls got quite a thrill from observing him follow his own description of the working girl, pausing every few minutes to pull out his mirror and check his lipstick, and occasionally adding another luscious red coating to his lips as additional protection.
