I rolled over the next morning with a sore pussy and a clear head. Despite the memories of last night's incredible sex, I no longer felt any attraction to George. Speak of the devil, where was he? I gagged a little when I thought of how we fell asleep spooned together, his dick pressed against my ass.
I rolled over. On my "husband's" side of the bed was a black feather duster. Without thinking, I reached for it and immediately felt something had changed. "Sacrebleu! My 'air is blonde? And what 'appened to my voice?"
I looked up, noticing that more than just my body had changed. The room was smaller, clearly meant for one occupant, but much fancier. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bedroom mirror. Thankfully, my breasts were slightly smaller, but blonde hair framed a face that oozed sex appeal. I made the final connection as I noticed the "outfit" provided for me on top of the dresser. "Oh, ze French maid? 'Ow original."
"Ah, there's my new live-in maid. Your name is Mary, correct?"
No, you warlock motherfucker. My name is Mark. "Non. Je m'appelle Marie."
"Oh, my apologies Marie. Well, I'm afraid I must be leaving for work, but if you would be so kind as to tidy up, that would be lovely."
"Of course, monsieur Corning." As I watched him leave again, I had every intention of ignoring his orders and watching TV all day. I would have, too, except... the kitchen was a mess. There was no way I'd be able to relax, knowing what a state it was in. It went pretty quickly, once I figured out how to keep my boobs and hair out of the way.
Finally, I could sit. When I went to grab the remote, though, I noticed how dusty the table and shelves were. I already had the duster, might as well put it to use. I easily took care of everything within reach, but the top shelves were too high, and it would bug me to leave them unfinished. I poked around in my closet for a stepstool, but found only clothes. "Maybe zees shoes will 'elp."
I clicked around in high heels, quickly becoming comfortable in them. It pleased me to see the extra few inches was all I needed to complete the last of the dusting. Of course, then I remembered I hadn't made my bed, and I'd be willing to bet monsieur Corning--George--hadn't made his either. It went on like that for hours, always finding just one more thing to do before I could relax.
After spending the whole day cleaning, washing, and scrubbing, the apartment was spotless. I looked around, honestly quite pleased with how much I'd accomplished. "Well Marie, you did not watch any tee vee, but ze floors are clean enough to eat off of."
That was such a strange expression. You get the floors clean, then what? Someone drops a big scoop of pasta right in the middle? That would be so filthy. I'd have to get down on my knees and scrub before it could stain anything. So fucking dirty, filthy, nasty...
What the hell was the matter with me? Did this maid personality have some kinky fetish about cleaning? The sound of voices outside the door interrupted my thoughts. I dashed back to my room as I heard George and a clearly intoxicated woman enter. They bumped around, knocking something over and almost definitely making a mess. What a fucking turn-on.
George's bedroom shared a wall with mine. I heard them go in, and it didn't take long before they were going at it. God, they probably just threw the pillows on the floor. If she's as horny as she sounds, she must be soaking through the sheets.
I pressed my ear against the wall, picturing the depraved acts they must be doing. The memories of my experience with George last night, along with the new taboo of anything messy, had me furiously rubbing my clit as my moans rose in time with hers. I briefly recalled that I was a man, and shouldn't be turned on by any of this, but the thought quickly faded. It felt too good, too intense. There was no turning back.
"Ohh... Oh mon Dieu! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!!!"
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