Maid Uniform Novels & Stories

The maid returned with the uniforms — plain gray dresses and white aprons, the exact ones I’d worn every day in that house. I held one out to Maxwell’s mom. She stared at it like it would bite her. “Well?” I said. “What’s it going to be? Are you reformed or are you just broke?”

"We'll take this one." For the next forty-five minutes, Mama worked her way through the boutique with the determination of a general planning a military campaign. She selected silk robes, lace teddies, matching bra and panty sets in colors I'd never worn in my life—emerald green, sapphire blue, champagne gold. "This one," she said, holding up a sheer black bodysuit with strategic cutouts, "is excellent for flexibility. Very important when you're trying to conceive." I closed my eyes. "Please stop talking."

Maya took her own clothes, but when Karen reached for them and thanked her, she withdrew her hand and brought the clothes to herself. "I'd rather help you put this on," she explained, moving behind Karen. Karen nodded sincerely and allowed herself to be helped into the green robe with the tree branch motif, trying to ignore her feelings as Maya's hands remained on her body. Karen tried to tell herself that maybe she was imagining things. Then Maya moved in front of her and removed her outer garment so that Karen could put it on and cover her body. The garment was long, almost to the length of her skirt. Karen was relieved to finally be fully clothed again.

I almost ran out of oxygen when I was with them, it was as if they had emptied it without leaving me to die. I went into my room to clean myself before the sun went down. The maid said that all the clothes for me were available in the wardrobe and I was free to choose whatever I wanted. After I checked what the clothing models were, my eyes wanted to fall out to see a row of sleeveless mini-dresses. There are no ordinary clothes such as T-shirts and trousers. This is too feminine when dealing with a mafia-like him. I stood in front of the wardrobe with my body wrapped in a towel, choosing which dress was suitable to wear at night.

A woman with long hair spoke up, and Manuela turned to face her. “B-but…” Manuela’s fear deepened. She knew Uno was busy with his meeting right now. All she could do was pray Santi would find her before the event began. “Hurry up and change. If the guards catch you not ready, they’ll force you to dress themselves.” The short-haired woman said, shoving a red two-piece swimsuit into Manuela’s hands. Manuela’s body trembled slightly as she held the fabric. She refused to parade herself in front of the men on this island—men who only wanted her for their own pleasure.

The latter cheerfully threw it over his shoulder. After opening a large metal cabinet of uniforms, Amanda pulled one that suited her - a black and pink jumpsuit - that screamed ‘drive expert.’ She disappeared into the changing room and appeared moments later clad in it with her hair tied into a high ponytail. “You done for the day?” Matteo asked as he stood in the same viewing area yesterday. Amanda nodded once. “Yeah, ” she said and raised her arms over her head for a stretching exercise.

With fair hair like the maidens of Tvari and her olive skin betrayed the fact that she was not from Revillion. Madam Claire was not a lot of things but she was beautiful and knew how to manipulate men. She honed her beauty and used it like a weapon. She wore the heavy skirts of the Revillonian women, in a royal purple color. Her skirts were made with quality material and lined with gold thread. She had money and she flaunted it. Around her middle she wore a forest green corset, laced so tightly, her breasts looked like they would pop out of her outfit. And resting between her revealed cleavage was a gold medallion.

Araminta led Aria to her room and offered her a set of new clothes, traditional garments unlike anything Aria had ever worn before. There were no dresses here. First, Araminta handed her a plain white skirt that reached mid-calf, simple and light, to be worn as an undergarment. Over it, she wrapped a long brown cloth around her waist, folding and tucking it neatly so it fell like a skirt.

Concrete walls, a single bare bulb hanging overhead, and a woman waiting with a medical kit. "Strip," she orders. "What?" "Your pajamas. They're already torn. You fight in athletic gear." She gestures to a pile of clothing on a bench—black shorts and a sports bra. I want to refuse and maintain some shred of dignity. But what's the point? I strip mechanically, changing into the fighting gear. The material is tight, unforgiving, designed to allow maximum mobility. The woman approaches with the medical kit. "Any injuries I should know about?"

I put my phone aside, eventually and carefully peeled off my blouse and jeans as I squeezed my body into the maid uniform. Ever since I started earning money from Dominic, I started to gain a few pounds and bits of flesh in the right places, so the maid uniform started to fit me less and less. If I had continued to earn that type of case from him, by the following week, the uniform would be ripping, and it would be much harder to get on.