An Anniversary to Remember

Tried something new with this one and wrote it from a first-person perspective. Let me know what you think!

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I should have remembered our anniversary. It’s not like she didn’t remind me—she had, multiple times. But when she walked through the door, expecting something special, all she found was a messy apartment and an empty-handed boyfriend. I saw the look on her face, the way her lips curled into that furious little smirk, and I knew I was screwed.

She almost walked out. I begged her not to. I told her I’d do anything to make it up to her. And that’s when she smiled—that slow, knowing smile that told me she’d already decided my fate.

“I have the perfect idea for a gift,” she purred.

I should have run.

That’s how I ended up here. Bent over the bathroom sink, staring at my own reflection, except it barely even looks like me. The blonde wig cascades down my back, tied into a high ponytail. My lips are glossy, pouty—just like she painted them. My eyes, rimmed with dark liner and thick lashes, look wide and desperate. And then there’s the outfit… God, the outfit.

She was supposed to wear this for me. That had been her gift—a tight, black latex maid’s uniform, with a scandalously short cut and lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings. Instead, I’m the one teetering around in the heels she picked out, the glossy dress clinging to my body. The worst part? The fake breasts she made me wear jiggle with every tiny movement, making it impossible to ignore how feminized I look.

And that’s not even mentioning the plug.

The remote-controlled plug she oh-so-casually slipped in before I even got dressed.

Buzz

I let out a humiliating squeak and clench the sink. Her giggle from behind me sends heat rushing up my neck.

“Oh my god, you’re adorable when you squeal,” she coos, twirling the little remote between her fingers. “You should do it again.”

I grit my teeth and keep scrubbing.

The bathroom counter gleams under my efforts, but she’s not satisfied. She never is.

“You missed a spot, sweetheart,” she says sweetly. “And you really should bend more when you clean. Give me the full view.”

I shoot her a glare in the mirror and shake my head, refusing.

Big mistake.

BZZZZZ

A sharp, overwhelming vibration pulses through me, far stronger than before, and my body betrays me in an instant. My knees go weak, my back arches, and I bend over with a shuddering gasp—no, worse—a moan. A soft, breathy, utterly humiliating moan that slips past my glossy lips before I can stop it.

She purrs behind me, taking her time as she admires the way the latex clings to me, the curve of my pert, lace-framed ass now on full display.

“Mmm, much better, sweetie,” she muses, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the sink in mortification as my body adjusts to the relentless sensation.

As soon as I can breathe again, as soon as I wrestle back any shred of dignity, I make a silent vow to myself.

I will never forget our anniversary again.