Everything

"Monica...er...Mistress said you wanted to see me?" you swallowed nervously from the doorway to the study.

"Yes, come in, sit," he said pointing to a couch as he walked to the corner where the bourbon was, in what used to be your study, but was no longer. 

You sat, knees together as you'd been trained, your ankles crossed. You were on the edge of the couch tugging at the hem of your maid's uniform, one hand on your knees, trying to cover as much as you could.

After he poured his drink into one of the rock glasses you used to use, he sat in the leather club chair, your old chair. He sat like he belonged, his legs spread, like this was his study, not yours. He was silent for a long time, sipping his bourbon, the gaze of his eyes shifting from your heels, up your stocking covered legs, to your dress.

"Monica thought it time we meet like this," he finally speaks.

"I..." You pause, not sure what to say to the man who has taken over your study, your role, your position. "I think..."

"The uniform suits you," he interrupts you. "Feminine, but not too much."

"Thank you, Sir," you swallow, eyes down, giving the only appropriate response, knowing anything less will only be reported back to your wife.

"You disapprove," he says, a statement, not a question.

You're not sure how to respond, not sure if he's asking your opinion or merely commenting. 

"Go on," he says.

"I...she...this was supposed to be...something private," you answer, "something...for us...for Mistress and me."

"I imagine you hoped it was that way," he said. He took another sip of your bourbon, set the glass down, leaned back, legs still spread. 

Just then your wife came into the room. She was wearing just a bra, panties, garter belt, stockings, and heels, a sheer wrap, untied. 

"Am I interrupting?" she asked.

"Not at all," he said, motioning her over to him. She walked over to him, gave you a glance, sat on his lap.

"Well?" she asked, snuggling against him as he cupped one of her breasts.

"I said the uniform is suiting," he says, gently massaging her breast, "feminine, but not too much."

Your wife smiles at you, obviously happy with his characterization. It was one of her goals, to feminize you, but not so much you could pass as a girl, knowing leaving you short of passing was more humiliating to you. "Pretty, but not too pretty," she said, obviously enjoying his strong hands touching her in front of you.

"Exactly," he said.

"So?" she asked, clearly desperate for his answer to her burning question.

"Do you know?" He looks at you.

"K...know?" you ask.

"She's leaving it up to me," he says.

"Appropriately so," she smiles, "as the man of the house."

"She's leaving it up to me," he says again, "whether this indefinite...the uniform and everything."

"In...indefinite?" you ask, gasping.

"Like full time," your wife says, smiling, "the uniform...and everything."

"But...but..." You stop yourself, seeing her face. The uniform and everything?

"Yes," he says, "the uniform and everything." 

You shift, uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the small, locked cage. The uniform and everything?"

"You mean yes to all of it?" your wife asks, clearly pleased.

"Yes," he says, kissing her neck. "The uniform and everything. Especially the everything."