Regmore Rigmin
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The Anime Maid Café Bet TG
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 11:00:02 +0000 UTCBen had always been the type to make fun of nerds. He wasn’t outright cruel, but he had no problem teasing his roommate, Eric, for his obsession with anime and cosplay. So when Eric invited him to a local anime convention, Ben only agreed because he wanted to laugh at all the “weirdos” in ridiculous outfits.
What he didn’t expect was to get himself roped into something humiliating.
“Come on, just one game,” Eric had insisted as they walked past a bustling maid café booth at the convention. “If you win, I’ll do all your laundry for a month. If you lose… well, you’ll see.”
Ben had scoffed. “Easy.”
The game was simple—pull a card from a box. If it was red, you won. If it was black, you lost. Ben, full of cocky confidence, plunged his hand into the box and pulled out—black.
The moment he saw the wicked grin on Eric’s face, he knew he had messed up.
The next thing he knew, he was being dragged to a back room behind the booth where a group of excited girls—cosplay maids—were waiting.
“We love when we get a loser,” one of them giggled. “It’s makeover time!”
“Whoa, whoa, wait,” Ben protested, but they were already swarming him.
Before he could fight back, his arms were restrained, and a tall girl with red hair and glasses held up a bottle of shaving cream.
“Strip,” she ordered.
“No way!”
But they were insistent. Within moments, they had pulled off his hoodie and jeans, leaving him in just his boxers. His legs were forced into a tub of warm water while the girls lathered his arms, legs, and chest with the cream.
The first razor stroke sent a chill down his spine.
“Relax,” one of the girls cooed. “We have to get rid of all this unsightly hair if you’re going to be our new maid.”
“Wait, maid? What do you mean—”
“No spoilers,” the redhead smirked, dragging the razor down his leg.
One by one, they stripped him of every trace of masculinity. The moment they wiped him clean, one of them grabbed a pair of tweezers.
“Now, these thick brows need to go.”
Ben tried to shake his head, but it was pointless. Each pluck sent a jolt of pain through his face, and within minutes, his eyebrows were thin, feminine arches.
“Now for your wig~”
Before he could react, they slipped a snug cap over his head, tucking his short hair away. Then came the wig—a long, wavy mass of red locks that tumbled over his shoulders. It felt so real. Too real.
“This’ll help it stay on,” one of the girls giggled, using glue to press the lace front down. “Now it won’t budge, no matter what you do.”
Ben groaned as they began applying makeup. Foundation, contour, highlighter—his face felt heavier with each layer. When they were done, a mirror was shoved in front of him.
He barely recognized himself. His sharp features were now soft and delicate, his lips plump and glossy, his eyes large and doll-like.
“Now, let’s get you dressed~”
Ben tried to resist, but they were relentless. They pulled a tiny pink and white sailor-style maid outfit over his head, adjusting the skirt until it barely covered his thighs. White thigh-high stockings were slipped up his legs, and the final touch—a pink bow—was clipped to the front of his chest.
“Perfect!” one of the girls beamed.
Ben was horrified.
“Okay, okay, you had your fun,” he muttered. “Can I go now?”
The girls all exchanged knowing looks.
“Oh, sweetie,” the redhead giggled. “You haven’t even started yet.”
That’s when Eric walked in, phone in hand, already recording.
“Oh, this is gold,” he laughed. “But you’re not done. Remember? You lost the bet.”
Ben swallowed hard. “What else could you possibly make me do?”
“Simple,” Eric grinned. “You’re going to work at this café. For the next three hours.”
Ben’s stomach dropped.
“No. No way.”
But it was too late. The girls were already dragging him toward the convention floor, right into the middle of the crowded maid café.
“Welcome our newest maid, Bunny,” one of the girls announced loudly, and to Ben’s horror, the audience clapped.
The next few hours were pure torture. He was forced to serve tables, curtsy, and even perform a kawaii dance on stage in front of dozens of people. Each time he tried to lower his voice, the girls would pinch his arm, forcing him to squeak out cutesy lines like, “Onii-chan, your food is ready!”
And then came the worst part—someone recognized him.
“Wait… Ben?”
He froze, turning to see Jake, one of his football teammates, staring at him.
“No way,” Jake burst out laughing. “Dude, is that you?!”
Ben wanted to disappear. But he had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he curtsied and, in the sweetest voice he could muster, said,
“W-welcome, Master.”
The café erupted with laughter.
Eric wiped a tear from his eye. “Best. Bet. Ever.”
Ben knew one thing for sure—he was never making fun of anime fans again.
