What I Discovered While Snooping

Chapter One

After years spent toiling in the murky depths of the IT department, I made my move, abusing my powers as a computer technician to reschedule my yearly review, bumping it up to fall on Halloween. Why Halloween?

Because... well.

"James... is that... is that you?" one of my coworkers asked me as he stared at me wide-eyed in disbelief. "I wasn't expecting you to ah... dress up."

My heart skipped several beats as I stared down at the office's battered old carpet, its color like wet cardboard.

"Well it is Halloween. So I thought, why not?" I said as I glanced up, smiling shyly.

"Ah hu," he mumbled, eyeing me like a hungry stray. 'well, that's ah... that's quite the getup."

"Thank you," I said, and excused myself from the awkward conversation.

As I walked, I peeked above the rows upon rows of cubicles and spotted a few people in crude costumes, having read the small paragraph I'd personally written and snuck into the company-wide email before it had automatically been sent out. It was the first, and likely last time our dull as beige company would celebrate the day.

I reached the elevator, jabbed at the button, then looked up, counting the floors as it slowly descended. Every second was agony, my courage paper thin. It's not too late, I thought. I could crawl back to my tiny office, gràb the change of clothes I'd brought, dash to the washroom and slip out of this ridiculous outfit.

...then what?

My bank cards were maxed out, my line of credit tightening like a noose around my neck. I needed a raise, a big one, and I needed it now. No, I thought sadly. I'd exhausted all my other options. I had no other choice.

When the elevator arrived, I darted inside and used my security pass to access the executive floor... which I had magically been granted access to. As the elevator rose, it made several stops along the way and people shuffled in. Even though I kept my eyes glued to the ceiling, I could feel their leers piercing me like daggers.

In the awkward silence I imagined what they were secretly thinking.

...I can't believe he actually wore that to work. That can't be appropriate. Did he lose a bet? Does HR know? Is he trying to get fired?

It was safe to assume that word of my outrageous Halloween costume was spreading like wildfire through every department. Sad really. After carefully guarding my identity, purposely trying to blend in with the dull office dividers and fake plastic plants of some unknown variety, possibly none, I would always be known for dressing up for Halloween as a...

...the elevator doors opened letting in a cool breeze of canned air. My skin, the majority exposed, bristled.

I walked to the secretary seated at her desk. She looked up at me from above the glasses perched on her nose. Her reaction, unfiltered, was pure disbelief.

"Can I ah... help you?"

Rallying what remained of my courage, I smiled and replied. "I'm here to see Mr. Hunt. I have an appointment."

Her eyes drifted to her computer, staring at it like she didn't recognize it.

"And you're..." she asked, her voice trailing off.

"James," I replied.

"James..." she said, as if she was hearing the name for the first time. "Right, here you are. Strange, I don't remember scheduling this meeting. Oh well. Ah, Mr. Hunt Is running a bit behind today, he should be here soon."

"Do you mind if I wait in his office?" I asked.

"What? Oh, right... of course. Sure... I guess."

"Thx," I said, turned and walked to his door.

Was she staring at me? Did she recognize my outfit? She may even have ordered it, bought for a boyfriend, perhaps a married man? Was she that type?

It was powerful enough to seduce any man, equivalent to dropping a sexy atomic bomb in the bedroom. If not, she could have it after I was done with it. Once I was through with this ridiculous meeting it was going into the nearest dumpster.

...and yet.

I opened the door and gasped, shocked by the size of his office. There was so much space. The rest of the building had been chopped up, divided into tiny portions and dulled out to employees. There was never enough room to stretch, let alone converse. Yet here it was, space... and he was hoarding it all for himself!

I soaked in his office. A desk like a mountain's fist stood in front of a wall of glass. Through it, I could see the entire city, stretching to the horizon. Bookshelves, stained maple, lined the walls, filled with the wealth of an entire library.

I took a seat in front of his desk and waited, my hands, like a frightened animal, tying themselves into knots.

Now was a good time to review the plan... there was a plan right?

I'd meticulously gone over every detail, weeding out the potential errors, yet failed to adequately describe what I intended to do when he arrived.

...nor how far was I willing to go to get a raise.

The question was absurd, of course I was going to keep it PG. My sexuality was concrete, a straight line that I didn't deviate from. This ridiculous get-up was just a means to keep him distracted, off his game while I negotiated for a significant raise.

Would he recognize it though? It was the one he'd viewed most often when he'd scrolled through the internet on his company PC, thinking, foolishly, that just because he deleted his internet browser's history no one would ever know.

I knew...

Wait, what would happen if he realized I'd been snooping? Would he be furious? It was a stupid question. Of course he would be, likely to fire me on the spot.

What the fuck was I thinking? This was a terrible plan, the worst. I bolted up, spun around, was about to make mad dash for the door when I heard voices through it.

"...a what?" a voice growled. "Why would you schedule me for a yearly review? That's HR's problem, not mine."

I was trapped...

"I'm aware of that Mr. Hunt and I would never... There must have been a miscommunication. The thing is..."

Before I could hide, the door burst open. Our eyes locked and I met Mr. Hunt for the first time. Every line of his features were cut like a precious stone, his physique tuned, hair sculpted.

"Oh," he said as his eyes drifted over my half-naked body. "My apologies. I wasn't expecting a French maid."

Chapter Two

Discovering which femboi sissy French maid's uniform was Mr. Hunt's favorite was easy, finding it was hard. I scoured the internet, searching for the elusive garment. Nothing. I dug deeper, used a fake account, joined a femboi kink community and flat out asked them where I could buy it.

"Lol, you're kidding right?" user Submissive4U replied with several laughing emoji. "That's a Lush exclusive, ultra rare. They have a flash sale every now and again, release like a hundred or so. You'd have better luck winning the lottery with sequential numbers."

I continued to search. The company had no social media accounts or even a homepage. Sure, there were imposters, plenty of them, but they didn't last long, often struck down by some unseen force. I was about to give up, scrap the entire plan when a post caught my eye. A fan in the femboi community had spotted what might be a legitimate Lush flash sale. This type of thing happened all the time and was usually fake. I was about to log off, then hesitated.

...what if it wasn't?

The FOMO was real, dragging me back to my laptop. I checked the link. It passed the smell test. Could it be?

There was a gallery of photos. As I scrolled through it, my eyes widened. It was the femboi sissy French maid's uniform, the one I'd been searching for. It was made of heavy vinyl, a thick material like wet rubber. A short skirt flared out from the waist. It had a white collar, puffy shoulders and a frilly snow white apron that tied in the back with a large bow. It zipped up in the back and was closed with a small lock.

...why a lock?

I had no idea, nor did I care.

I looked up. In the top right hand corner a counter was counting down to zero... quickly.

I leapt from my chair, sprinted across my small living room and grabbed my wallet from the tray I kept it in, then ran back to my room, tearing plastic cards out until I found my credit card. My fingers were jelly as I jabbed at the keyboard.. I refused to look up, every second was crucial. I punched in the last number, placed the order, and...

Was I successful?

I looked up. The last few remaining numbers counted down to zero. The flash sale was over, all 100 of the femboi sissy French maid's uniforms had sold out. I heard an alert from my phone, reached over, my heart beating frantically like a drum, and checked my email.

It confirmed my order.

During the following week, I remained fixated, following it as it was shipped to my small apartment. I made several more purchases to complete the look, loading my credit card to its capacity. I was committed now, dependent on a raise if I ever hoped to pull myself out of the pit of debt I'd dug.

All of the packages arrived within days of each other and remained unopened by my front door till Halloween. I'm not sure why I chose to wait. Was it the fear of discovering I'd ordered the wrong size?

If I had, I was ruined, my plan foiled. If I was doomed, I'd rather spare myself the humiliation and wait till Halloween to discover it.

When the day arrived, my alarm, wailing like a siren, woke me. A few seconds later I was in the bathroom, naked, slathering hair removal cream all over my body. The instructions said to wait fifteen minutes. I set an alarm on my phone and stood there, waiting patiently.

I still had plenty of time, an abundance in fact, yet every second was precious. With nothing else to do, my mind wandered. Was dressing up as a sissy French maid and lulling my boss into a stupor to convince him to give me a raise really my best option. How had I arrived at the idea?

I remember scrolling through his deleted history, browsing through the endless galleries of femboi French maids in seductive poses, their skirts playfully hiked up to reveal their frilly panties, garters attached to thigh high stockings pulled tight, cute buckled coal black Mary Janes, chokers with iron rings and bows, a parade of bows.

The alarm went off on my phone, jolting me back into reality. I turned on the shower, leapt in when the water was scolding hot, and scrubbed the foamy subs off my body. Below, my skin, picked clean, was as smooth as glass.

I reached down and glided my hand across my bare thigh. As I stared, it was as if my body had... changed. Had my legs always been so long and lean?

I discovered hips I was unaware of, curving like a bell from my flat tummy. How had they remained hidden? Baggy clothing?

Honestly, I've never put much thought into what I wear, often cycling through the same dozen or so plain shirts that have faded beyond recognition.

Is this really that important?...the clock is ticking.

I quickly changed into my regular work attire, grabbed my keys, wallet, the bag I'd prepared the night before with everything I needed and left my apartment. On the subway ride into work I saw the first hints of the spooky day. A few people were in costume, or perhaps that was how they always dressed. I rarely paid much attention to the people around me, preferring to hide between a pair of bulky headphones.

Through my thick pants I could feel my skin tingling. To keep my hands preoccupied, I fiddled with my phone, mindlessly scrolling as the train sped through the subway tunnels. I got off at my stop, the bag of kinky treasures held tightly in both hands. I'd never been mugged before, but if today was to be that day, what an odd discovery they'd make when they rummaged through my possessions.

When I arrived at work, to avoid being dragged into any awkward conversation, I ducked into the stairwell and made my way to the basement. There, using my security card, I unlocked one of the unused boardrooms. There were several which were often used for storage.

As the door opened, the fluorescent lights automatically came on. The room was bare except for a long wooden table and several office chairs. I took a seat at the head of the table, emptied the bag, and separated its contents into four piles.

The first was for the femboi sissy French maid's uniform. It was still in its shipping package and looked like a plump plastic pillow. The second was for all the lingerie I'd ordered, again all still in their shipping package. The third was for the cardboard box containing the Mary Janes, and the fourth was for my new collection of makeup.

...where to begin.

Originally, the plan was to do my makeup first. I'd sat through hours of tutorials, even taken notes. But what would be the point if nothing fit?

Plus, I didn't want to smear my makeup when I changed. Well, it's decided, I thought as I reached out and picked up one of the packages of unopened lingerie. My fingers trembled as I peeled back the packing tape, reached inside and emptied its contents onto the table. Each piece was sealed in a thin layer of plastic. I tore through it and marveled at my new spoils... a pair of snow white panties with pink bows, a garter belt with a pair of chocolate brown stockings and a matching corset.

...a corset. I was fascinated by it. It was all hooks and a complicated web of underwiring designed to pinch the waist and shape it like an hourglass. It seemed cruel, a form of torture.

...and I couldn't wait to put it on.

Enough stalling, I thought and stripped, letting my clothes fall to the ground in a clump. Naked, I sat down on the office chair, the faux leather cold against my bare skin.

...what first?

I reached for the panties. The cotton was soft, delicate like a cloud, the lace like the brush strokes of a painting. I counted three bows... wait, no, four, discovering another one hung above the bikini bottom.

I brought the panties down, was about to slip them on, then hesitated, aware of an invisible line drawn on the floor, if crossed would mean I was a... a...

I refused to let my mind dwell on it. I was overreacting. It was just a stupid stunt, ideally one that was successful. Once completed, I'd put all of this far behind me, never to resurface again.

I dipped my toes in, raised my ass and brought the panties up past my thighs to my waist. There they rested as I tucked in my raw sex. Next I picked up the garter belt. It hooked in the back. I wrapped it around my waist, tugging as I blindly tried to find the hooks. I was successful on the fifth try.

I picked up the package of nylons, peeled back the tape, reached inside and gently pulled out the stockings. They were as light as air, the nylon like a spectre. I rolled one up into a donut, dipped my toes in and brought it up to my thighs. When I hooked it to the garter it hugged my skin like a thin coat of paint. After I repeated the process, I brought my hand down, gliding it over the smooth nylon. My body shivered, an electric jolt from some unknown chamber in my body activated, causing me to gently moan.

Was that a normal reaction to... stockings?

No idea. All I knew was my brain felt like it was swimming in a fish bowl. Everything was moving so quickly, yet it was like I was crawling through molasses. Should I stop?

...no.

There was only one direction to move, and it was forward.

Shoes, I couldn't forget the shoes! They'd left a sizable dent in my credit card which I'd spun as a necessary expense. I picked up the box and opened it. Inside, cradled in white tissue paper were the Mary Janes. They were jet black with clunky five inch heels and buckles. I reached in, picked them up and brought them down.

...would they fit?

The conversion seemed pretty straight forward, barely a challenge for someone with my superior intellect, yet I was plagued by a shadow of doubt. I sunk my foot in, and... it was a perfect fit! I did the same with the other shoe and buckled them. With that out of the way, that only left...

...the corset.

I reached out and picked it up. There was something menacing about it, like it was a trap that had yet to be sprung. A web of wires maintained its rigid form, softened by the bows. It was cream colored, the shiny material reflecting the fluorescent lights, making it appear almost wet.

Simple enough, I thought as I brought it up and wrapped it around my chest. I hooked it in the front, starting from the bottom. As I worked my way up, the corset tightened, gradually forcing me to take small shallow breaths. When I was finished, I tugged on it, and spun it around.

...I looked down.

Gone was the lumpy potato I dragged out of bed every morning, pumped full of caffeine and ran into the ground until it sputtered out and collapsed onto the couch in my tiny apartment. It had been replaced with what my creative vocabulary could only describe as...

...as

The words failed me. My new body was the lump sum of every sexy girl I'd ogled on the internet, my feverish brain having recorded them in great detail.

...and it was mine.

The corset created a perfect hourglass figure, obliterating a good chunk of my waist. My hips, bare, had been spared, billowing out, the garters stretched tightly across them, anchored to the thigh high stockings. Beyond that was an endless sea of nylon, stretching to the floor.

...and it was mine..

And that's where I would have remained, lost in the spell, staring at my new voluminous body had the clock not still been ticking.

The obvious next step would have been to put on the femboi sissy French maid's uniform, yet I hesitated. For whatever reason, I wanted to save that till the end, which meant I needed to do my makeup next.

I'd come prepared, having brought a small vanity mirror. My notes were unnecessary, every step burned into my memory after hours of repetition. I started with the foundation, the color perfectly matched to my skin tone. Using small brushes, I applied a thin layer, wary of slathering it on like mud. When I completed that task, I moved on, applying eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick. The colors were vibrant, playful like a cheerful candy coating.

Working from one area to another I was able to avoid seeing the complete picture. Good, I thought when I finished. I didn't want to spoil the final product. I set everything aside. There was only one step left and my transformation would be complete.

I looked over at the unopened shipping package containing my femboi sissy French maid's uniform. If it didn't fit, all of this would come to an abrupt stop. What then? Scrap the makeup off, change back into my regular clothes and pretend like none of this had ever happened?

I dreaded the idea. If I had failed I'd rather call it a day, cash in one of my sick days, crawl back home and pretend like none of this had ever happened.

...if the femboi sissy French maid's uniform didn't fit.

I reached out, grabbed the shipping package, fumbled with the tape then tore through the thick plastic. Inside were several smaller sealed packages. I opened them leaving a wake of shredded plastic.

Were instructions required? It seemed easy enough. The uniform was neatly folded, the thick black vinyl appearing wet under the fluorescent light.

There was also a snow white apron, and was that a... a tiara?

No, a headband with frilly white lace.

I stood up, reached down, unfolded the femboi sissy French maid's uniform and raised it. The thick rubber-like material gave it weight. It was exactly as pictured. The shoulders were puffy. It had a high collar and flared skirt. Yet it looked so... small.

...the moment of truth.

I turned it around. It zipped up in the back which was secured with a small lock. Again why a lock?

...I'd google it later.

I removed the lock, set it down on the table, unzipped the dress and stepped into it. I brought it up, past my thighs, struggling for a second to clear my hips, and slipped my arms through the shoulders. I then reached back and blindly fumbled for the small zipper.