by Arya Martin
Arya / CAMPUS SISSY MAID / 25
Campus Sissy Maid
Feminized, Punished, and Put to Work!
A Feminization Tale by
Arya Martin
FEVEROTICA BOOKS
Published by Feverotica Books
Copyright 2016 by Arya Martin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
This book contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts and is intended only for readers ages 18 and above. All characters portrayed as participating in sexual acts are consenting, are at least 18 years of age, and are not related by blood.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
SNEAK PEEK: Feminized by the Faculty Femme Fatale
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1
I fucking hate this place.
I’m staring down at the paper in my hand, in particular the big red F that takes up a good three-fourths of the front page. I’m in shock. I just can’t believe it. An F? I never claimed to be the world’s best student, but I’ve never gotten an F on an assignment I actually halfway tried on before.
Fuck this podunk college my parents sent me to. Why couldn’t I just have stayed at home and gone to the university in my hometown, with all my friends? Instead, they insisted on sending me here, to the middle of nowhere. Said it was a good school (my ass) and would be a “character-building” experience.
What a load of crock.
Dr. Doreen Carroll, my English professor, finishes handing back papers and settles into her desk chair up front. I glance around, wanting to see if everyone else is as pissed off as I am. But no, they look pretty happy. Did she only decide to pick on me?
It’s a few minutes yet before class officially starts. I need to do something about this. I’m not failing this fucking class. I’m not gonna get stuck in here next semester with this bitch for a teacher again. I don’t care how hot she is. Getting to stare at her nice round ass all period doesn’t make up for having to put up with her crap.
Fortunately, I’m pretty good at talking my way out of these things. Teachers like me. I’m cute, in a boyish kinda way. I’ll just head up there and have a little chat with Teach, try laying on some charm.
“Hey, Dr. C,” I say with a crooked grin, sidling up to her desk.
She looks up at me, doesn’t even crack a smile. That’s how much of a chip this lady has on her shoulder. Damn if she isn’t gorgeous, though. Those piercing dark eyes. All that wavy chocolate-brown hair. “Ike,” she responds. “What can I do for you?”
“Uh, well,” I laugh lightly, laying the paper in front of her. “I’d love to discuss this grade with you.”
She gives me this little eyebrow-shrug. “What’s to discuss?”
Ohhhkay. Maybe this won’t be quite as easy as I thought. “Well, you know, I worked really hard on this paper. I think I made some excellent points.”
“You didn’t follow instructions,” she replies crisply. “I asked for ten works cited. You only had nine.”
I’m…stunned. “Hold the phone,” I say. “So because I fell one short of the requirement, you’re failing my whole paper?”
“I was clear at the beginning of the semester, Mr. Harvey.” Fuck. You know when she calls you ‘Mr.’ she means business. “It’s very important to me that students pay attention in this class and follow my instructions, to the letter. Only nine sources when the assignment specifically requires ten is frankly unacceptable.”
I’m…livid. My hands ball into fists at my sides. This is…ridiculous. “You can’t do that,” I say quietly out loud.
Her gaze locks on me, suddenly cold. A chill runs down my spine. “I’m your professor,” she enunciates very plainly. “If you’d bothered to read the syllabus, you would have seen that I was very clear regarding how this and every other assignment in this class will be graded, and this would come as no surprise to you. I’m afraid you’ve simply failed the assignment, and it’s a result of your own poor judgment. If you like, I can work with you to ensure your next paper is up to snuff. I can even come up with some sort of arrangement to help you earn extra credit. But I cannot and will not change your grade on this paper.”
It comes thundering out before I can stop it. “That’s bullshit.”
The whole class goes silent. Dr. Carroll is staring at me, fire in her eyes.
“How dare you speak to me in that tone?” she begins in a low voice, rising from her chair.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’ve made a huge mistake. “I’m…I’m sorry,” I manage, backing away slowly. “I’ve been under a lot of stress…. It wasn’t right for me to talk to you that way.”
“You’re damn right it wasn’t,” she snaps. “Apologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“On your knees.”
I blink at her in disbelief. She can’t mean that, can she? Right here, in front of everyone?
I glance out at the rest of the class. They’re all watching, some looking as shocked as I am…others giggling into their sleeves.
“Dr. Car—”
“On your knees, now,” barks the professor. “Or I’ll be speaking to the dean about carrying out an even harsher discipline.”
Like what, I wonder? I’ve never been in this kinda trouble before. What can they do to you in college? Suspend or expel you, I guess? Put some kind of mark on your record? I have no idea.
Fuck this stupid podunk school.
All I know is I just want this to be over. Reluctantly, I drop to my knees, refusing to look her in the eye. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“Like you mean it,” she growls.
I clear my throat, forcing a more syrupy delivery of my line. “I’m sorry I was rude, Dr. Carroll.”
“Thank you. You may stand.”
I get to my feet, blushing furiously. A few titters rise up from the class.
“Good boy,” she says. Like I’m a fucking dog or something. My blush deepens.
“Now, you should be aware that your grade is on thin ice in this class,” the professor continues, settling back into her chair and crossing her lovely legs…damn her. “Without extra effort, you may end up having to retake this course next semester.”
The whole class is now listening to our conversation. “Just…let me know what I can do, Professor,” I respond as calmly as I can manage.
She smiles. “I’ll give you an extra letter grade on this paper if you continue to be a good boy and do as you’re told this class period.”
“Of course.”
Her smile widens. It’s making me nervous. What the hell is she planning?
“You see that trunk over there in the corner?” she asks, pointing.
My heart drops into my stomach as my gaze follows the direction of her finger. I remember now what a few of my dorm mates told me back at the beginning of the semester.
“Aw, man, you got Carroll?” Brent chuckled. “You better not step outta line, bro. That bitch is tough. My big brother went here too. He’s got some crazy stories, man. If she ever opens up that big trunk she always has with her, you’re in for a world of hurt.”
The trunk sits ominously in the corner. Every day, she drags it in on its little wheels and sets it there. I’ve never seen her out and about on campus without that trunk in tow.
“Do you?” she persists, since I haven’t responded yet.
“Y-yes,” I stammer finally, and clear my throat. �
��Yes, I see it.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, having a hard time keeping the sarcasm out of my tone. It’s a stupid, old-fashioned rule of hers.
She narrows her eyes. “Go and open it.”
I pace to the trunk, trying to look as cool as possible. Everyone’s watching. I can’t let them know I’m nervous.
I flip open the latch of the trunk and raise the lid.
It’s full of…costumes? Loads of them. Lacy, frilly outfits, wigs of varying colors and lengths. Also what appears to be a little cosmetic kit.
“See the one on the top?” says Dr. Carroll. “The black and white costume?”
All I can manage is a nod. I can’t fathom what’s about to happen here.
“Put it on.”
My head snaps around. My classmates respond with a chorus of gasps and giggles.
“You can’t be—”
“I wouldn’t talk back to me if I were you,” she interrupts.
I swallow, choosing my words carefully. “Just to make sure we’re clear,” I say, “you want me to strip down in front of this class and put on this….” I pick it up and hold it, finally realizing exactly what it is. “Sexy maid costume?”
More giggles.
“That is correct, Mr. Harvey,” says the professor. “Excellent deduction.”
I’m red now from head to toe. “But…but…you can’t….”
“I can,” she interrupts coldly, “and I have, and I will continue to do so. This is a very effective form of discipline that the dean of this school supports one hundred percent. You and your parents were made fully aware in the information provided to you upon acceptance to our program that this is the type of discipline the school employs. Now, you may do as I instruct, or you may retake this class next semester. The choice is yours.”
I just can’t believe this.
…Fuck this podunk school.
“Fine,” I snap bitterly, unbuttoning my pants.
“Mind your tone, Mr. Harvey,” says Dr. Carroll warningly.
The class is tittering loudly as I kick of my shoes, drop my pants, shrug out of my shirt. I pull the maid costume down over my head and struggle awkwardly with the zipper, all while everyone watches.
When I’m done, I stand there, red-faced, waiting for further instructions.
Dr. Carroll rises from her seat and paces toward me. She inspects me from head to toe, then plucks dismissively at the sagging fabric in the front of the costume, right over my chest. “Flat as a board,” she complains. “Go back to the chest. Find the pink bra and false breasts.”
“What?” I choke.
“Do it.”
I’m hot with shame. I still can’t believe this is happening. I fucking hate this woman.
I stump reluctantly over the chest; rummage around in its lacy contents until I find the bra and two silicone fake tits. Turning my back to the class—for some reason, giving myself boobs is making me feel weirdly modest—I fumble with the bra until it’s in place on my chest, then stuff the false breasts into the cups before restoring the top of my costume.
I’m now staring down at two enormous round lumps on my own fucking chest. They look…real. Holy shit.
“Turn around and let’s see,” urges Dr. Carroll, a hint of playfulness in her tone.
Fuck you, bitch.
I turn, keeping my eyes lowered so I don’t have to see people’s reactions.
The laughter is deafening. Even the professor joins in. It’s the first time I’ve ever fucking seen her smile. It’s beautiful, of course, like everything else she does. Fuck her and her gorgeous white teeth, her perfect red lips, her dimples….
“Not bad,” she remarks. “Some nice, perky little tittles you’ve got there, Ikey. But damned if they don’t look silly with those hairy legs and armpits of yours. Oh, well. At least you’ve got a girly little face to go along with them.”
I blush. Hard. It’s a real sore point of mine, the fact that I’m kind of girly looking.
“Oh, my. What is this?”
The professor points. Even before she commented, I felt it. I was just hoping no one would notice.
…Turns out an erection is impossible to miss when it’s making the front of your tiny frilly skirt stand up like a goddamn flag.
“Oh my God,” exclaims a girl on the front row. Everyone’s guffawing and gasping. And I want to die right now. I want to melt right through the floor. What the fuck is wrong with me? How can I be turned on by this? What am I, some kind of sissy pervert?
“Oh, that’s marvelous,” declares Dr. Carroll. “How about some makeup for that pretty face? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ikey?”
As if standing to rigid attention wasn’t bad enough, the damn thing twitches.
“I see you would,” purrs Dr. Carroll. She rolls out her chair and pushes me down in it, grabbing the makeup kit from the trunk. “Just a light touch, I think,” she says, opening the kit on her desk. She pushes my hair off my face with an elastic headband and gets to work. I’m still blushing furiously, my dick still hard as a fucking rock. With her leaning over me like this, I can see straight down her blouse to her big heavy tits, all gorgeous, hanging there and knocking against each other. She’s putting pink lipstick on my lips, and I’m imagining her forcing one of those gorgeous tits right between them. Me sucking on it like a fucking little baby.
God, this is fucked up.
She applies one cosmetic item after another—some thick liquid all over my face, then a bunch of powders. Combs and pencils in my blond eyebrows. Takes a mascara want to my eyelashes and yells at me whenever I blink. My thoughts are a jumble. I’m angry, I’m humiliated, I’m…more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
She smells amazing. I hate her. I love her.
When she’s done, she steps aside so the class can have a plain view of her handiwork. I brace myself for more laughter.
Instead, there’s silence. They’re all just staring.
“Wow,” one girl finally says.
“Dude,” says Mack, the guy who sits next to me. “You sure you’re not really a girl?”
I grit my teeth and gesture to the telltale erection. Some people finally laugh.
Dr. Carroll pins a blonde wig on my head, adds some clip-on earrings and a pearl bracelet, and finally some black high-heeled shoes. She surveys me proudly, then shakes her head at my armpits and legs.
“So pretty, except for all that nasty hair,” she remarks.
I comment before I can stop myself. I can’t help it. I’m a snarky guy. “Yeah, what are you gonna do next?” I mutter. “Fucking shave me?”
Her eyes narrow, and she grabs my face in her hand, squishing it so hard my lips pooch out. “I am sick and tired,” she pronounces, her face inches from mine, “of your very unladylike mouth.” She straightens. “Just for that, not only am I going to require that you shave your entire body before our next class period, but I expect you to wear this costume day and night for the entire week, removing it only to wash it and to bathe yourself. Do you understand?”
I blink at her uncomprehendingly. I know she didn’t just say what I think she said. “A…a week?” I manage at last, hoarsely.
“One week. Even in your dorm. I’ll inform your RAs, and if you’re caught disobeying then you’ll be disciplined.”
The class is wide-eyed; silent out of fear of her, but plainly holding back laughter at my plight. My heart is thumping mightily against my ribs.
She can’t mean this. She can’t.
“Take the makeup,” she says, plunking the kit in my lap. “Everything you’ll need for hair removal is in there, too. For the next week, your name is ‘Kiki,’ and you’re a little sissy maid. Whenever another faculty member or student assigns you a menial task, you will complete it, no questions asked. In other words, you’re the campus bitch. Do this, and I’ll consider giving your paper a passing grade. Do you understand?”
I hesitate, then nod numbly.
I’ve
never been more humiliated in my life. And somehow, I’m still turned on.
The class bell rings. As I leave the building, a group of jocks gathered near the exit honor my passing with raucous laughter and wolf-whistling.
Without thinking, I turn to shoot them a glare.
Right there at the front of the pack is my roommate, Brent.
“…Ike?” he mutters in disbelief, then grins in spite of himself. “Oh…shit. You got Carrolled!”
Before I know it, I’m running clumsily across the courtyard, as fast as my high-heel-wearing feet can safely carry me. How I’m gonna keep this up for a week, I just don’t know…’cause I already feel like I’m gonna be sick.
2
I… can’t believe that’s me.
I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in my girlfriend Lilah’s dorm room, staring at myself—er, “Kiki”—in the mirror. Lilah just helped me shave, so my legs and armpits are smooth. The whole ensemble is…surprisingly convincing. I’ll be damned if I don’t look like someone I’d try to pick up on a Saturday night.
“So you have to do whatever I say, right?” grins Lilah from her perch on the bed behind me.
I turn toward her. She’s gorgeous, with long, straight, vibrant red hair, a tight body, and a devilish grin that always gets me going like there’s no tomorrow. She’s kind of a shitty person, and I know this on some level, but she’s the hottest girl who’s ever liked me, so I’ve consciously chosen my fate. Long as she sucks me off every now and then, she can be as terrible as she wants and I’ll still follow her around like a lost puppy.
“Within reason,” I mutter.
“Ugh, that’s weird,” she comments.
“What?”
“That guy voice coming out of your little prissy face,” she laughs. “At least try to sound like a girl, huh?”
I roll my eyes.
