The sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoed through the silent house. Amanda stood in the doorway of the living room, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. In her hand, she held it—the frilly black-and-white sissy maid uniform, complete with the tiny white apron and lace-trimmed stockings. She didn’t even have to say a word.

John, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, froze the moment he saw it. His eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small. He knew what was coming.

“John,” Amanda purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “The floors need mopping.”

His heart began to race. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. She was already striding toward him, her hips swaying with every step. She stopped just inches away, the uniform dangling from her fingers like a carrot on a stick.

Her free hand reached out, her nails lightly grazing his jawline. He shivered at the touch, his breath hitching as her fingers trailed down his neck, over his collarbone, and came to rest on his chest.

“On your knees,” she commanded, her voice low and firm.

John hesitated, his pride warring with the undeniable pull of his desire. It’s just cleaning, he told himself. It’s not a big deal. But he knew it was more than that. It was the way she held all the power, the way she knew exactly what buttons to push.

Slowly, he slid off the couch and knelt before her, his head bowed. Amanda’s smirk widened into a triumphant grin.

“That’s better,” she cooed, her hand moving to tilt his chin up so he was forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. “Now, beg.”

John’s face flushed, but he didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Not when she was this close, not when the uniform was right there, teasing him.

“Please, Amanda,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please let me wear it. I’ll clean everything. I’ll do it perfectly. Just… let me wear it.”

Her laugh was soft, almost cruel, but it sent a thrill through him anyway. She handed him the uniform, her fingers brushing against his as he took it.

“Good boy,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t disappoint me.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out the door, leaving John alone on his knees, the uniform clutched in his hands. His heart was still pounding, his skin tingling from her touch. He hated how much he loved this.

---

Amanda returned hours later, her nails freshly painted a deep crimson. She sent a quick text—a single word: “Ready?”—and waited outside for a moment before stepping back inside.

The house sparkled. The floors gleamed, the counters were spotless, and the scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air. Amanda’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, her eyes scanning the room.

“John,” she called, her voice sharp and commanding.

He appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, his face flushed, his body trembling. He was on his knees, just as she’d instructed, completely naked except for the lace-trimmed stockings she’d picked out for him. His hands were clasped behind his back, his head bowed in submission.

Amanda stepped closer, her heels clicking against the freshly mopped floor. She stopped just in front of him, her arms still crossed.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

John obeyed, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of shame and anticipation. She let the silence stretch, enjoying the way he squirmed under her scrutiny.

“Did you do a good job?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with authority.

“Yes, Amanda,” he replied, his voice trembling. “I cleaned everything. Just like you asked.”

She hummed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she inspected him. “And did you enjoy it?”

He hesitated, his face turning even redder. “Yes,” he admitted quietly.

Amanda laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek. “Good boy,” she murmured.

---

The next morning, the tension was thick. Amanda sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee with an air of calm indifference. John stood across from her, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “It’s just a shirt. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow, her expression cool and unreadable. “You’re the one who’s overreacting, John. I was just asking you to pick up the dry cleaning on your way home. Is that really so difficult?”

“It’s not about the dry cleaning,” he snapped. “It’s about you trying to control every little thing I do.”

She set her coffee cup down with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

For a moment, John held her gaze, his chest rising and falling with his anger. But then, his eyes flickered to the living room, where the sissy maid uniform hung in plain sight. His resolve wavered.

Amanda saw it, and her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. She stood from her chair, walked over to the uniform, and plucked it from its hook. She held it up, letting the fabric sway gently in the air.

John’s breath hitched, his anger dissolving into something else entirely. He knew what was coming.

“On your knees,” Amanda commanded, her voice firm and unyielding.

He hesitated, his pride flaring up again, but it was no use. He dropped to his knees, his eyes locked on the uniform in her hands.

“Now,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “apologize.”

John swallowed hard, his cheeks burning with shame. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Louder,” Amanda said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

She stepped closer, the uniform still dangling from her fingers. “And if you do talk back to me again, you'll never wear your sissy uniform?”

He clenched his fists, his heart racing. “And… I’ll wear the uniform. I’ll do whatever you want. Just… please, Amanda. Let me wear it.”

Her laugh was soft, almost cruel, but it sent a thrill through him anyway. She waved the uniform in front of him her fingers brushing against his cheek as he looked at her completely broken and obedient.

“Good boy,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mockery and something darker, something that made his stomach twist with anticipation. “Don’t make me punish you again. Now get ready for work.”