The Maid New Deal: A Kinky CYOA

4: Garden Salads

"Yes..." I whispered.

***

It started the next day, when we went out to eat and Emily jumped in to order garden salads, no dressing, for both of us. After the waiter left, she blushed, looked at me slyly and said, "You know, for Charlotte's figure."

We ate dinner, chewing bland lettuce silently, as Emily played footsie with me under the table.

A few weeks later, I caught her zapping herself with some device.

"Oh, it's a laser hair remover. It'll keep me smooth for a while when I'm done."

She pulled it out again when she had me tied down.

"So what do you think? Don't you think our maid would look better smooth?"

"Is it permanent?"

"Depends on how you look at it. After a dozen times or so, it'll keep you smooth for a few years. I hear it'll grow back, just not as thick."

"A few years?"

"Mr. Bennet," She rolled her eyes, "Do you actually like body hair? Even on men?"

"No."

She traced her finger down my chest. "You're already smooth for a man... if you were completely smooth, I doubt anyone would say a thing. And that would work so much better for Charlotte."

I sighed like it wasn't turning me on, but she knew, she was holding 'me,' gauging how excited 'I' became with each word.

"Let's just try your belly? See how that goes?"

That only took half an hour. It stung at first, a lot. But the next night, she used crème to numb me when she did my chest.

She kept talking about how smooth and soft this was going to make "our little maid doll". And that kept turning me on.

The night after that came my legs, then my arms, and by the end of the week, even my face was smooth.

We weren't going to do too much, not get rid of it entirely forever. The plan was to time it so the first few months in the new house would be hair free. But so, as she put it, "If we did want to go all the way, we could."

I had told my work about the inheritance. It was a startup I'd joined out of college. I'd been excited about them at the time, but they were treading water now. And after my boss started joking about me investing in the company, I tried to avoid everyone, moved myself out of the critical path until I was just doing work they'd normally get a contractor to do, and started counting the days.

Emily's work went easier. She told them she was going on 'sabbatical'. They were large enough where they didn't have a problem with it.

"How long were you thinking we'd stay in Oregon?" she asked me one evening, after movie night.

"I don't know, not forever. Maybe a year or so?"

"A year seems about right." She agreed.

"What about that other thing?"

"What other thing?" It took her a while to realize the question. "Oh that, well if it lasts a day, I'll be happy. As long as it's one perfect day."

"All this work for one day?"

"I never heard you complain about that before." She smirked. "But if you really want to make it more... interesting, I could have our lawyer write up contracts?"