By Hanna A____, freelance journalist
Translated and embellished by T. H. Enerdly
In case it’s not clear to the reader, I must point out that Mme. Nguyen is a Mistress in the BDSM sense of the word.
During the interview, we discussed her complex approach to training a maid. She emphasized that she was only speaking for herself and not for other Mistresses. Nevertheless, her methods are quite instructive. She likes to recruit professional women who have a secret desire to experience servitude and offers them the opportunity to moonlight as maids while still living their “civilian” lives, or so it seems at first.
Mme. Nguyen lives near the Place d’Italie, on the Avenue de Choisy, in one of those hidden places in the Capital, at the back of a courtyard that leads to a former workshop that has been converted into a duplex. The location is quiet, but full of life, a place where the few remaining artisans sometimes cross paths with Rembrandt wannabes.
At her residence, Mme. Nguyen greeted me in traditional Chinese dress, the cheongsam. The interview took place on the first floor of her duplex in the living room, a large open space with simple furniture, lending a “Zen” feel to the room.
The transcript of my interview with Mme. Nguyen appears in the next section.
Hanna: Do you prefer to be called “Madame” or “Mistress?”
Mme. Nguyen: The term “Mistress” is overused. It has a very specific meaning. But I don’t mind being called “Mistress.” However, I don’t like my current maid to call me “Mistress,” even though my role in our relationship might be described that way. I prefer the term “Madame.” It suits me best.
But you, dear Hanna, may address me as “Mistress” if you like. Why don’t you give it a try? Each time you speak to me, either start or end your sentence with “Mistress.” It’ll give you insight into my methods. And you’ll experience some of the feelings of those middle class women who humiliate themselves by begging to become my servant. In other words, You’ll feel as if you’re applying to be my maid. Of course, both of us know that that’s not the case, but the emotions that will be engendered will help you write a more insightful story, a story, quite frankly, that will titillate your readers.
Hanna: Well…I’m DEFINITELY not applying to be your maid, but I suppose you’re right: Calling you “Mistress” might help me write a better story. Lets see, where were we? (Glances at her notes.) Uh…Mis…I can’t do that. It’s too embarrassing.
Mme. Nguyen: You can do it, Hanna. Remember, it’s for the sake of your readers.
Hanna: OK… (Tries again) Calling you “Mistress” is embarrassing. Uh…Mistress, is there anything else you wish to say about your preference for the term “Madame?”
Mme. Nguyen: (Grinning) Trust me, dear, you’ll get used to calling me “Mistress.” But to answer your question: Yes. There are a couple of situations stipulated in my protocol of servitude in which my domestic object may call me “Mistress.”
First, on occasions when my maid addresses my person in public. The term “Mistress” is the honorific that many domestics use to address their employers, and thus I see no reason to forbid the use of the term.
Second, in the specific situation in which she is directly serving my person and talking about my wardrobe. For example, “The dress of my mistress is ironed,” or “The boots of my mistress are polished,” and so forth.
Consider the sentence: “The dress of my mistress is ironed.” It specifically mentions my dress and my person—but not my maid, even though she’s the one that did the ironing. When my maid repeatedly uses sentences like this, sentences in the passive voice, sentences that suppress her role in caring for my garments, she will unconsciously begin to attribute more value to my garments and my person than to herself. She will come to venerate my dirty panties with as much devotion as my brand-new suit. The same strategy can be extended to cleaning. She will began to treat the dust in my bedroom with as much devotion as my satin sheets.
Basically, my domestic object will be subliminally coerced to accept essentialism, the doctrine that every individual has a unique essence and that everything she touches becomes imbued with her essence. My essence will be treated as something of great value and that of my domestic object won’t. This means that my dirty panties will be worthy of worship, but hers won’t, assuming, of course, that I would let my maid wear panties in the first place.
That is why, among other things, that she has offered part of her life to serve me: She senses in my person the essence of someone capable of turning her fantasies into reality. However, I must be perfectly clear on one point: We are not role playing. Once in my clutches, she is my property.
Hanna: Mistress, are you often described as a dominatrix?
(Mme. Nguyen smiles sweetly, complicitly winking an eye. My hostess is comfortably seated in a club chair, facing me. She slowly crosses her legs, her delicate hands caressing the leather armrests. She seems proud of her position.)
Hanna: Mistress, would you describe yourself as a dominatrix?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s a role for which I’m well suited. But I prefer to think of myself as an educator. It more accurately describes my temperament. It’s my true calling. But more than anything else, I want to transform the Being who has entrusted herself to me into an object and an object alone, into a thingamajig that only has value because she is available for the well-being of another.
Think of me as a Mistress who doesn’t necessarily whip her slaves, but binds them in psychological shackles. Domestic service is an ideal arena for a person with my predilections.
Hanna: Do you run a kind of super hotel school that teaches the laws of servitude? (Mme. Nguyen frowns.) What’s wrong?
Mme. Nguyen: Mistress!
Hanna: OK…uh…MISTRESS, do you run a kind of super hotel school that teaches the laws of servitude?
Mme. Nguyen: (She smiles briefly.) In a manner of speaking, but one with only one or two hand picked students.
Incidentally, did you know that some Mistresses like to show off their domestic knowledge to their maids? I can hardly keep from giggling when I see Mistresses performing menial tasks In front of their maids to “demonstrate” their superior housekeeping skills.
By the way, I suggest you drop the attitude. There’s no need to shout out MISTRESS!
Hanna: Sorry, Mistress. You must have some criteria for selecting those you train. What are they?
Mme. Nguyen: They are quite simple.
Like any employer looking to hire some staff, a résumé suffices. Of course, I like to see references, which are a plus. I double check the references, and if they turn out to be phony, the résumé goes straight into the round file.
Here is the procedure I’ve followed since the beginning for identifying potential candidates: I place a classified ad in “le Figaro” under the heading “domestics.” The ad asks the applicant to cut it out and attach it to a handwritten letter. This is a very simple instruction that I repeat each time, but I always receive tons of letters without the clipping. I don’t ask for a list of their service jobs or even a description of their S/m or D/s fantasies. These letters join the others in the round file.
Like any employer, I look for a well written application that describes the motivations and expectations of my future protégés. An explanation of why she wishes to become a domestic is a plus. I need to understand her motivation if I’m to successfully train her as a domestic object.
What I do next is completely subjective, but I feel strongly about it. I decrypt the unconscious thoughts hidden in her handwriting. I do this with a friend that’s a graphologist. The process Is truly fascinating and informative as well as accurate. It describes character traits perfectly. So there’s little chance of being misled. We can spot the phonies who have submitted a bogus résumé.
In fact, as you can see, I don’t do anything different from what the human resources department of a large corporation does.
Hanna: What’s the first interview like, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s always at the same place: On the barge of a friend. I never meet more than two or three slaves at a time. Never more, mainly because I have other things to do.
The meetings are spread throughout the month at a time that suits me.
The appointment is done at a specific time. I have everyone synchronize their watches so that there are no disputes. I’m very strict: a minute late and they’re fired. I don’t wait. This is a wise policy, given the number of no shows. Fortunately, at the first meeting, one can almost always tell if the domestic object is a natural slave or not.
To begin the conditioning of the candidate, I have her perform a simple test, nothing particularly tricky. I simply ask her to serve me a glass of water. It’s stupid, isn’t it. A glass of water and yet? Imagine a clumsy, trembling klutz. I have seen it all: Spilt water, and, unbelievable as it may sound, a mirror broken as they pass by.
The candidate is no longer playacting. She has had her first taste of servitude and introduction to submission as a way of life. The glass of water speaks volumes about the deepest motivations of the slave.
Then comes the catastrophe for the slaves: I winnow the herd.
If I don’t want her, if she doesn’t interest me, I let her go. I’m not here to fulfill her fantasies as she might think. I’m not a “professional” Mistress. All I’m interested in is using her for my pleasure. Let me repeat it: FOR MY PLEASURE AND MY PLEASURE ALONE. I couldn’t care less about her dreams of submission.
I waste no time in telling her if she doesn’t interest me. Slavery is a job like any other at which one is obliged to work. What motivates them? That is the question.
Hanna: Mistress, what happens once they pass the interview?
The happy candidate is sent to a temporary employment agency specializing in janitorial staff, and managed by a couple of friends. There, my future domestic registers as a cleaning lady.
Hanna: I don’t understand, Mistress. Why do you have her do that?
Mme. Nguyen: There are two reasons.
First, she’s now on record as being a “professional” cleaning lady. This important because it immediately lessens her status in the eyes of others.
The sooner her social circle learns her secret, the sooner she adopts the psychology and behavior of a maid. Basically, I create a mental straightjacket that gently forces her to behave as I desire.
Also, using a temp agency allows me to cover my ass and avoid criminal prosecution for practicing “domestic slavery,” a not inconsiderable advantage.
The second reason is a secret that I’ll tell you about later.
Once the formalities are concluded, I let her stew in her own juices for a week or two, for fun, for psychological reasons, to let her ponder the prospect of her servitude. I ask her to leave a message on my answering machine every day at a specific time. The idea for doing this was suggested by a friend. I let her talk without answering, without saying anything, without even speaking about it later. It’s interesting to observe the changes in the intonation of her voice, her pauses, and even her questions. There is a gradual change in the slave’s voice as the day of reckoning approaches.
If she forgets to call, I automatically cross her off my list.
When the messages are interesting, as in the case of my current maid, I ask her to email me about what she thinks about her upcoming servitude. The replies are often interesting. I’m definitely going to try this again with my next slave. It’s quite instructive. I’ll put these emails in her servant’s notebook.
At the same time, I compile a dossier on them. It’s very important to have a potential slave completely fill out a questionnaire for the use of their MIstresses, including phone numbers, email addresses, where she works, her position in society, the names of her co-workers, everything related to her intimate experiences, her sexual preferences, her marital status, her children, her exes, her sexual orientation. This allows me to understand her strengths, her weaknesses, her hobbies, her fantasies. I also ask her for her clothing sizes and a complete description of her wardrobe. (Mme. Nguyen eyes Hanna’s outfit.)
Hanna: Why do you need a description of her wardrobe, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s simple: I’m a girl. I never tire of new clothes. If I’m the same size as my maid, then I can wear her clothes. It’s a perk of being a Mistress. Her suits, her dresses, her shoes, her jeans, her sweaters, her leather jackets, her trench coats, all of these are mine by right. It’s one of the conditions that I impose at the get-go.
I love the look on my maid’s face when I wear her favorite clothes. I see admiration, and I’m proud. Wouldn’t you admire the outfit you’re wearing right now if you were humbly standing in front of me In a maid’s uniform, and I was wearing your suit instead of you? It’s a lovely outfit, Hanna. (Hanna has an expression if disbelief on her face.)
One shouldn’t feel like they’re exploiting their maid. You’d be surprised how willing she is to share her wardrobe with me. One shouldn’t deny oneself this pleasure, but rather savor it. I always ask my maid to inform me of all her clothing purchases. If it’s something I like, I commandeer it for myself. If you were my maid, I’d definitely commandeer the outfit you’re wearing right now. It’s much too fine for a mere maid. It’s much too fine for a woman like you that aspires to be a maid.
Hanna: I don’t aspire to be a maid.
Mme. Nguyen: I don’t aspire to be a maid, MISTRESS.
(Hanna pauses for a moment, apparently to suppress her irritation at the suggestion that she aspires to be Mme. Nguyen’s maid.)
Hanna: OK…Mistress…how long do you wait before taking actual possession of the slave?
Mme. Nguyen: Four to five…perhaps six weeks. That may seem like a long time to a neophyte, but it’s nothing. It’s necessary to take a maximum of precautions, both for the sake of the Mistress as well as the slave. To repeat, assuming I haven’t already said so, this isn’t a one-shot D/s scene, but rather a long-term commitment that will publically transform the life of the slave.
The final employment contract will be signed in my home in the presence of two witnesses.
Hanna: Two Witnesses, Mistress? like a Marriage?
Mme. Nguyen: (Mme. Nguyen laughs as she straightens up in her black leather chair, crosses her legs again, and places her hands on her knees with infinite grace.)
Basically, you’re not far off the mark. It is sort of like a marriage.
The slave’s entry into her new life is similar. Just like a marriage, there’s a short, official ceremony. She’s required to wear a plain black suit and white blouse. She must appear at her best. The formality of the occasion adds force to the moment when she puts her signature on the dotted line. It drives home the importance of the act.
Each side has a representative. The slave chooses whomever she wants, but she must provide a number at which her witness can be reached during her training. I select my witness from two or three acquaintances, one of whom happens to be an emancipated slave.
Once the contract is signed, I have a new domestic to train. And I immediately put her to work. To celebrate her signature, I ask my new maid to serve us champagne.
Hanna: Mistress, how well does the slave perform her first duty?
Mme. Nguyen: Not very, but I’m gentle with her at first.
However, she is in my service to learn. As I’ve said, it’s a job: Menial labor performed in servitude. You won’t hear me speak of being patient with her. That Is not a word used by a Mistress.
Also, it’s out of the question to be friends with one’s maid. The contract she signed is specific and irrevocable. In my eyes, this woman is a domestic object in my house. And It’s necessary to immediately impose a pecking order.
Corporal discipline is not necessarily needed. One’s voice suffices, especially when accompanied with the subtle disdain that every Mistress must immediately cultivate, together with a pinch of contempt. For example, I might tell my maid, “My God, Hanna, to be reduced to licking my boots for pleasure.” (Hanna involuntarily looks at Mme. Nguyen’s boots.)
I don’t hesitate turn the clock back an hour or two when necessary. It’s good for everyone.
There’s a trick I like to play as soon as she lays down the pen after signing her name, a trick that will break the submissive, a kind of psychological cold shower.
My routine never varies. After she’s done serving champagne, I send her to the kitchen, where three day’s worth of dirty dishes await her. This is one of my guilty pleasures, one which I confess that I love. It’s sort of like hazing at school. It goes without saying that the dishes must be done flawlessly. I also insist that she keep her formal clothes on with no smock, no apron, no rubber gloves, no nothing. I won’t tolerate any stains or damp spots on her clothes, which means she has to use her fingertips to do the dishes, which of course is completely impractical. Another variation on the same theme is to forbid the use of hot water. The slightest stain or damp spot on her clothing earns her several extra hours of servitude. The point of the exercise is for her to learn from her mistakes, not to have her serve as a scullion or end up looking like a Portuguese maid.
While she’s busy in the kitchen, I have a leisurely conversation with her witness to get a different viewpoint and a few more details about my new maid. It’s very important to get someone else’s opinions.
In the case of my current maid, her witness was a man who worked in the burn ward of a hospital. He told me that she has wanted to be a domestic for at least ten years. D/s wasn’t his thing, but he spoke about it very intelligently. His words shed light on the psychological preoccupations of my new maid.
These conversations are often enlightening.
Hanna: What happens next, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: The witnesses remain no more than an hour.
The maid is not informed of the departure of her witness. Her life now belongs to me and not to her. In contrast, my time is all mine. This means I can read and amuse myself while she is stuck with the dishes.
Anyway, my new servant must be tested. I sneak in to the kitchen after about half an hour without letting her see me. I then surprise her while she’s focused on her task, carefully keeping her clothes clean. Her startle response causes her to plunge her hands into the dishwater, splashing water on her jacket and skirt. My domestic slave has just earned an extra 25 hours of servitude for losing her composure.
This is her first lesson in slavery.
For me, a domestic is a being who must not show any emotion in the presence of her Mistress. It must not manifest itself anywhere in my home. Consequently, it’s as if she isn’t present. She must emulate a vacuum cleaner stored in a closet. I very serious on this point.
Next, she visits my duplex where I give her instructions on her housekeeping duties. I show her where she’ll change her clothes: Usually the linen closet off the kitchen. The fetishism of servants is well known, so she will be disappointed to learn that she won’t be wearing a classic maid’s uniform. She’ll have to settle for a cleaning lady’s smock, my uniform for neophyte maids.
Hanna, imagine you had to wear cleaning lady’s garb instead of an elegant lady’s maid uniform. Wouldn’t you be disappointed? (Hanna looks annoyed.)
Then my new maid will be introduced to an important person: The concierge for my building. The latter controls the keys, at least at first, and the domestic object will have to deal with this person if I’m out and about.
Hanna: I suppose this arrangement prevents nasty surprises, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: We do not have a simple employer/employee relationship. The expectations of each party are different. In the weeks and months to come, the Mistress will gradually introduce her domestic to the duties that will help shape her new life.
Here’s an important point: The slave must be confident that the Mistress will properly train her. Because that’s why she submits herself to her Mistress’s tender mercies.
To facilitate training, there are two notebooks. The first is the “Task List” that enumerates and describes the servant’s tasks. The maid must learn it by heart for the sake of efficiency. The second is the “Servant’s Notebook,” a dossier that lists the total number of hours she owes me, her registration number with the temp agency, the slave’s training progress, notes about what can be improved, as well as potential punishments, which can be either physical or psychological. The notebook is updated weekly. Some punishments can converted into additional hours of service, hours that are added to the hours that the slave already owes me.
Hanna: Could you discuss the punishment hours in a little more detail?
Mme. Nguyen: You forgot to address me as “Mistress.”
Hanna: (She looks annoyed.) Sorry, Mistress. Could you discuss the punishment hours in a little more detail?
Mme. Nguyen: The contract with the maid typically stipulates that she owes me 300 hours of service, by no means a large number. It’s in the same ballpark as an internship. By signing the contract, the candidate unambiguously agrees to serve me as a maid together with all the conditions that accompany it, such as a baseline of 12 hours of service each week, at least initially. Every week, I subtract the hours she has served from the total hours she owes me. However, as I said before, she can receive additional hours for a thousand and one reasons. Often, at the beginning of her service, the additional hours are because of carelessness. Adding additional hours as punishment is completely at my discretion and my discretion alone. The slave has no say-so in this. She has no choice but accept it.
Consider my earlier example of a slave who received an additional 25 hours at the beginning of her service, a common occurrence. This bumped up the total hours she owed to 325. As a consequence, I deducted the total hours she served that week from 325 instead of 300.
Another example is your failure to address me as “Mistress,” a little while ago. If you were my maid, you’d receive 10 penalty hours for each breach of that protocol.
Hanna: Mistress, isn’t 10 hours a bit excessive?
Mme. Nguyen: Not at all. It’s actually a relatively light punishment. The slave must learn to respect her mistress, and a penalty of 10 hours is enough to be an effective pedagogical tool. She’ll quickly figure out that if she doesn’t show me proper respect, then she’ll never be emancipated. In addition, the constant repetition of “Mistress” helps transform the candidate from someone who thinks and acts independently into someone who can only think and act like a servant, into someone who cannot be anything else than a domestic slave.
Who knows, Hanna, by calling me Mistress constantly, you may end up begging me to be my slave.
(Hanna looks uncomfortable.)
Hanna: Mistress, could you give me some other examples of breaches of etiquette that merit additional punishment hours?
Mme. Nguyen: I observe her general behavior, whether she’s wearing the appropriate uniform for the time of day, the cleanliness of her uniform, her posture when receiving an order. I also check the general cleanliness of the house and the entryway, how well made the beds are, how carefully she carries out my orders, the cleanliness of the table service, and so forth.
White gloves that aren’t spotless cost 20 extra hours. The same for an improperly made bed. If for some reason the slave is AWOL, then—and I’m not kidding—I simply double the original number of hours she owes me on top of which I add punishment the slave doesn’t know about. The second time this happens, I fire her.
Everything about domestic service is punishable. The Mistress must be completely satisfied with the performance of the slave. It’s for this reason that I like to have my maid take formal training courses.
Hanna: Mistress, is the training in addition to the hours of service she owes?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course.
Hanna: Mistress, could you say a bit more about training?
Mme. Nguyen: Before answering your question, there is a point I need to clarify.
The purchase of a servant’s outfit, the uniforms, is a major expense. These uniforms will be the only clothing that I will tolerate. A maid’s uniform projects an image that symbolizes servitude. I insist on it for a reason, a simple reason: Wearing a uniform means that the servant accepts her servitude. Also, in the eyes of others, you are what you wear, that is to say, a maid in her case, and therefore she must behave as her uniform dictates.
Hanna: Uniforms are expensive, Mistress. Is buying them my responsibility…I mean the maid’s responsibility? (Mme. Nguyen smiles.)
Mme. Nguyen: If you were my maid, dear, as you’ve just suggested, and I were to buy your uniforms for you, then you would have to reimburse me with extra hours of work that would be added to the total you owed me. In fact, since you told me on the phone that you’re a trust fund baby, I would insist on buying your uniforms. I would also insist that you repay your debt to me by scrubbing my floors rather than reimbursing me with money from your trust fund. It would be much more fun for me to watch you sweat away than to count your money, and it would teach you that in my service, you’re no better off or superior to a poor girl. Plus it would be a valuable lesson in submission.
I’ll say more about uniforms later.
But let’s return to the subject of training. I might decide that my maid needs some specific training on—say—welcoming guests, because I determine that the servant is not ready to properly handle a soirée I’ve planned. The time spent in training does not count toward the maid’s total hours of service because it is done to support her job. And I don’t hesitate to intervene when I see that my maid needs additional training.
My current maid needed some training. This woman didn’t know how to use a vacuum cleaner, perhaps or even certainly, because she has a housekeeper at home. But here, she’s my maid, and, in spite of her good intentions, it’s clear that housework was not in her skill set. So I had to spent my own time to train her.
To show one’s maid that her Mistress knows to vacuum better than her was rather amusing.
Besides not knowing how to vacuum, she also didn’t how to dust. To teach her how to accomplish what I expected of her took two extra hours of training each week for a month. I did my best to train the slave as efficiently as possible, but it was lost time for me. For that reason, the time spent in training did not count toward the hours of service she owed me.
Hanna: What is the ultimate goal of your training, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: My objective is clear and unambiguous: My maid must become a domestic “worm,” whose existence can be best described as the same as that of an obedience machine, and whose greatest desire is to become a full-time maid-of-all-work by quitting her job to experience servitude 24/7.
I have some juicy examples of the fall into servitude. For example, Fabienne who became the chauffeur of her secretary. It’s often a desire for social regression that leads to domestic servitude.
Hanna: Does your domestic object sometimes volunteer to serve extra hours, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: (Mme. Nguyen’s smile tells us that she feels at ease. This question amuses her. She doesn’t seem to have expected it.) So you want to speak about gifts?
One of my friends joked that I should put a clause in my contracts that requires my slaves to give me an occasional gift of extra hours. I did this first as a trial balloon to see how my maids reacted. As a matter of fact, I added a clause in my contract that requires them to give me extra hours of service for my birthday, my name day, New Year’s Day, even Christmas. It was interesting to see hour many extra hours I’m worth as a Mistress. It’s sort of a return on experience.
I was agreeably surprised at the result. It turns out that I’m not too bad and that the slave has great expectations and must not be disappointed in her training. On the other hand, I must never show my satisfaction.
Giving me extra hours of service is SOP for a slave. It is the only way she has to show affection.
(Mme. Nguyen burst out laughing, the soft, relaxed laugh of a woman et ease in her skin.)
Hanna: Mistress, you seem to have a very well thought out process, almost like accounting.
Mme. Nguyen: I never studied accounting, but I hate unpleasant surprises. That’s why I keep a servant’s notebook: to keep track of the slave’s contract and related documents, so there’s no backing out. I don’t force anybody to sign the contract, but once it’s signed, one honors it. If not, I won’t hesitate to end our relationship. At every stage of my maid’s training, our relationship can be terminated, and back she goes to whence she came.
This isn’t some great innovation. It’s is what all the top tier universities do. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
Hanna: Mistress, is there anything out of the ordinary that you do to train your domestic objects?
Mme. Nguyen: I believe that once the SOP is in place, it is necessary to be patient. For a simple reason: My domestic object must align herself perfectly with my expectations, which are not necessarily the same as the submissive’s. That’s the reason for the preliminary interview.
I’m not the kind of person who rushes things. But I love to set traps. I slip on a white glove, out of the blue, to see how clean the top of an armoire is. I recheck the windowpanes two or three times. I insist that my shoes are polished top and bottom so that the soles as well as the uppers shine. Pressure is important and must be increased over time. Of course, this is no big secret. The slave must become accustomed to this way of life. And she will ask for more. It is up to you, Mistresses, to rule as you see fit. You must dot your i’s and cross your t’s to make it perfectly clear what you mean.
This is also why there is an task list that details everything expected of her.
Sometimes the slave suggests ideas, usually fantasies, but I rarely act on them .
In any event, the submissive must humbly accept the rejection of her idea. I’ve never seen a Mistress or Master who caters to the fantasies of their submissive. At least not in my house.
Hanna: What happens once the contract is signed, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Well…I send my future maid home after her first day of work, her first disastrous day of work.
(Mme. Nguyen laughs.)
More seriously, she has to learn to stew in her own juices. Frustration is a good school for submission. She must await an order from me to report back to my home. The wait is conducive to servitude. While she is waiting, I expect her to study the task list. When she is summoned back to my presence, I test her to see how well she’s mastered the material.
Only when she has mastered the task list will she truly enter my service and be provided with a weekly calender that shows her hours of service.
She must then adapt her life to my desires.
Of course, I don’t expect her to be at the top of her game immediately—that would be silly. Especially if she doesn’t have any experience. But I do like to work with novices; they are much easier to train.
It takes time to psychologically condition a slave’s mind. The servant will reveal if the conditioning has taken hold by how well she obeys my orders. I correct her behavior using a process similar to that used at a hotel school that involves monitoring a combination of her language, her comportment, how she wears her uniform, how she presents herself, but also, and above all, her ability to remain in the background, never getting in my way.
But there is a breed of domestics that I can’t stand: Those who are ostentatious about their servility.
You wouldn’t be obnoxious if you were my maid, would you, Hanna?
(Hanna declines to answer.)
She must get into the habit of doing her job. Thinking like a servant is all I ask, forgetting about everything concerned with her civilian life. I believe that the most complex aspect of her education is getting her to admit to herself that she is nothing but a domestic object, that her only concern is satisfying the needs of her Mistress, for example, waiting in the kitchen for three hours without anyone noticing her presence. In short, learning to be useful when needed. She is nothing but a menial, and I don’t care a whit about her outside job. When one is done sweeping the floor, one puts the broom in the broom closet, closes the door, and forgets about it. It’s the same with a domestic: She’s no more memorable than a mop.
There’s one point I hammer home, no matter how exalted her outside job may be: In my house she’s only a maid. I spell it out clearly: I have no interest in her person, so she shouldn’t expect any sympathy or kindness from me. At best, I show her indifference.
At some point during a maid’s training, I subject her to an ordeal, an ordeal that weakens her willpower. Or strengthens it, depending on the servant.
Some of my maids can’t cope with the ordeal, end up crying like babies, and leave my service.
Hanna: What exactly is this ordeal, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Nothing less than a confrontation, a confrontation with herself under the gaze of others observing her doing her new job, viewing the spectacle of a maid kowtowing in front of her superiors. How will these third parties perceive her? It’s simple to play the maid in private in front of a mirror. But when one is being observed by others and must perform one’s duty as a domestic, a simple thing like answering the ring of a doorbell becomes a humiliating experience, a sight that changes the expression of the observers, and more than one slave has cracked under their gaze.
One can then ask a simple, straightforward question: Is the servant comfortable with her new life? Psychologists say that this is the key issue: Has her psychological and social level reset so that her reality now matches her fantasy.
(In the silence, Mme. Nguyen rings a small bell. Mme. Nguyen and Hanna exchange knowing smiles for a moment. A women, about 40 years old, appears, wearing a blue-gray chambermaid’s uniform. She makes a barely visible, quick curtesy before standing at attention in front of her Mistress. Mme. Nguyen makes a quick adjustment to her white apron.)
“Bring us two flutes of champagne.”
(Another quick curtsey, and the slave returns back to whence she came.)
She’s the type I like. I call her “Thirty-Seven.” She’s 43 years old and was an executive secretary.
Hanna: Was an executive secretary? And the number thirty seven? Would you please explain, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Each of my domestic objects answers to the number on her dossier. It’s simpler for everybody, and I don’t have to rack my brain trying to remember her name.
Thirty-Seven has been with me a little less than a year. As of today, she owes me 22 hours of servitude per week and two complete weekends per month. Right now, for the time being, I don’t need another slave. But I might make an exception in your case. (Hanna shoots Mme. Nguyen a nasty look.)…Just kidding.
When I started training her, she owed me 12 hours and no weekends. As you can see, “progress” has been made. You don’t have to believe it, but servitude is a way of life to which a maid becomes attached . A sort of drug like the adrenaline that athletes secrete during competition.
If a servant leaves my service in a huff, ignoring her contract, but finds that she misses servitude, she’ll come back and beg to serve again. That’s what happened with Thirty-Seven. She has left and returned several times. As I say, it happens from time to time; one can’t rush things. But returning to her old life seemed too difficult, too complicated. Which I understand. At 43, She simply couldn’t return to her old life.
However, each time she left, she kept returning until she felt comfortable being a maid and doing her job. She finally learned to control her emotions. This is when her training could really begin. I’m patient. Has anyone ever seen a tamer train an animal with a snap of the finger?
In your case, Hanna, I’m sure that if you were to become my maid, you would leave and return several times just like Thirty-Seven. The first time you returned, I’d add 50 hours of service to whatever you owed me when you left, the second time, it would be 100 hours, the third time, 150, and so forth. But in the end, you’d stay. You’re obviously fascinated by the maid lifestyle but are conflicted about making the jump. Why else would you be here interviewing me? By the way, if you were to become my maid, I’d call you “Thirty-Eight.”
Hanna: I can assure you, Mme. Nguyen, that I’ll never ask to become your maid.
Mme. Nguyen: I bet that you WILL ask and that it will happen before the end of this interview. How about it? If I lose, I’ll have Thirty-Seven serve as your maid-of-all-work for 50 hours. If you lose by asking to become my maid, you’ll owe me 100 hours of service in addition to the standard 300 hours of service.
Hanna: Wait a second! If I lose, it costs me 100 hours, but if you lose, it only costs you 50 hours. That doesn’t seem fair.
Mme. Nguyen: The basic wager is for 50 hours. But haven’t you noticed that you didn’t address me as “Mistress” just now? And that you missed doing it several times earlier? To disrespect me multiple times in a single day costs 50 penalty hours. Thus, if you lose, you’ll owe me the basic wager of 50 hours plus the 50 penalty hours for a total of 100 hours
Hanna: (Hanna looks like she’s about to get on her high horse but begins to calm down.) I don’t see how I can possibly lose, so it’s a bet…Mistress.
(Mme. Nguyen smiles the smile of someone supremely confident of winning.)
Let’s get back to the interview, Mistress. (Hanna glances at her notes.) Um…is it easy for Thirty-Seven to lead two lives?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course this can pose some problems.
I’ll let Thirty-Seven explain it to you. Her problems are not my problems, and I refuse to get involved personally. At the same time, I recognize the trouble they might cause. It’s the responsibility of my domestic slave to manage any conflict between its “civilian” and its domestic life. If the domestic life of the slave takes priority over her other life, that’s a dilemma. It’s necessary for her to choose, to abandon one or the other.
At any rate, this is what awaits my domestics: There is a moment when she has to burn her bridges, when she cannot go back.
I ignore my slave’s difficulties. I’m not her personal assistant, so her problems have no meaning for me. I don’t take them into account. It’s important to remember that we are in an adult relationship, that we are no longer children. She is free to accept or reject this type of life. But if she accepts it, it’s with full knowledge of the problems that it may create.
Everything is clearly defined. I’m not a slave trader. Submission, that is to say, a lack of autonomy, is a way of life with its own set of rules. When one approaches me, it’s to experience this form of life, not to gather mushrooms.
Explain to me why I should bother with a slave who makes a quick appearance and then disappears into her hidey-hole under a bogus pretext. They make me puke. On the other hand, those who remain are worthy of my attention. They have the fire in the belly that it takes to be a slave.
It would be stupid and hypocritical of me to ignore it.
Thirty-Seven has the courage to accept her servitude. Sometimes that’s worth all the freedoms in the world. Because, strange as it may seem, servitude is a form of freedom.
Do you have the courage to accept servitude, Thirty-Eight?
(Hanna remains silent.)
On the other hand, it seems important to me to discourage Mistresses from taking domestic slaves into their service who cannot serve more than 10 hours per week. There’s no point to it. Neither for the Mistresses, who cannot offload all the tasks that need doing onto the servant, nor for the domestic objects, who are unable to spend enough time to master their job. It’s a waste of time for everyone concerned. Plus everyone becomes frustrated.
Hanna: But what about the ordeal that you spoke of, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Pardon me. Yes, the ordeal.
There comes a time when it’s necessary to check the progress of one’s domestic object. To know where she’s at, and how she is going to react to a new situation. I put her In the spotlight in a position of weakness, a position in which the servant risks losing her composure. As I said earlier, I have seen them break into tears. It ruins the evening for me if she gets angry, trying to deny the obvious, namely, that she’s wearing a maid’s uniform with all that it implies. After all, she is standing there in a white apron. If she tries to deny it, she appears even more ridiculous. I just let it go. It’s unfortunate, but she she to go through this ordeal if I’m to learn if she will accept her new life.
It’s not uncommon for the domestic to break out in tears in the kitchen or the bedroom, but tears are unacceptable when performing her duties. If that happens, as soon as the evening is over, the slave takes all her stuff and disappears from my life.
(There is a knock on the door to the living room.)
Yes!
Thirty-Seven: It is Thirty-Seven, Madame.
(Mme. Nguyen rings the bell to authorize her entry into the room.)
Mme. Nguyen: I generally invite an acquaintance of the slave to a party. It might be a friend, parents, or a co-worker as in the case of Thirty-Seven.
(In silence, the slave, wearing immaculate white gloves, places a silver platter, holding two flutes of fresh champagne, on a Chinese-style table. The maid is about to make a quick curtesy and take her leave.)
Remain here, this concerns you.
(As Mme. Nguyen and Hanna watch, Thirty-Seven moves to the other end of the living room, where she stands at attention, her gloved hands crossed over her white apron. This must be her station when serving a meal. Motionless near the service trolley, she resembles a statue that blends into the shadows of the decor. Mme. Nguyen looks at Thirty-Seven, then flashes Hanna a little smile.)
That’ll soon be you, Thirty-Eight.
(Hanna looks irritated with Mme. Nguyen.)
A maid is a transparent object in the sense that you should be able to see right through her without noticing her. It is necessary to make her understand this during her employment interview. Among all the service occupations of which I am aware, the domestic object is the only one that leaves me totally indifferent. It’s one that disgusts me at times. They don’t exist. One can speak of them in their presence without it affecting their service or devotion. A domestic is like a piece of furniture that has multiple uses.
That might appear simple, but it’s the foundation of my training.
I like to repeat this even—and especially—in their presence. She must constantly sense in my words and action the disdain that I have for her.
It is something I inculcate from the very beginning. To show my repugnance to beings that have no desire to be anything other than a flunky.
She must learn how to not exist in the presence of a MIstress. She must not forget this. She has to suppress her person for the sake of serving another. This doesn’t mean she should do nothing, sitting there like a bump on a log. She must be constantly ready, impeccably attired, available, ready to satisfy.
Hanna: Let’s return to the ordeal, Mistress. Is it a sort of trial by fire?
Mme. Nguyen: One could say that.
For me, it’s very important. It’s how I determine if I’ve been effective, if my training has been done right. (She breaks into a laugh.) But it’s also the future of the domestic. Her behavior will determine if the servant will continue her schooling with me or not.
And besides, I don’t believe that I have to ignore my own pleasure. I like small doses of sadism. A sting from time to time. I like playing mind games a lot. It’s also my job to break my domestic object psychologically, so that I can “reassemble” her as I see fit.
Let me repeat myself, perhaps once too often, but I have nothing to do with my slave’s private life. What’s important to me is their availability. They must be available when you have a need for them. Your domestic object is normally available to you for a certain number of hours per week. She schedules herself in accordance with your wishes. But if she is truly servile, your servant will do you the honor of skipping a reunion, a visit, a meeting with a friend, even her vacation—as in the case of Thirty-Seven—for the pleasure of the Mistress. But never thank your domestic for making herself available. It’s what’s due to the Mistress. It’s an gift that the servant places at your feet. Never forget the the Master or Mistress is untouchable for the slave. The domestic object venerates that which it will never possess.
One last thing. Never confide in your domestic. No matter whom you invite, her job is to perform her duties.
One day I had Thirty-Seven set a table for two. She ordered two vegetarian dinners from a restaurant I frequent. She prepared a grand repast while I corrected the proofs for a book.
Then the doorbell rang.
My guest was on time. I love punctuality. I got up, telling Thirty-Seven to go to the kitchen. I’d ring her if I needed her.
The young woman I met at the door was no more than 30 years old, effervescent, a sort of Wonder Woman attired in a perfectly tailored pearl-gray suit, wearing little round glasses, sporting short hair. This young woman was none other than the assistant of Thirty-Seven in her civilian life.
(Silence)
(Mme. Nguyen turns toward her maid with a self-satisfied smile, the smile of a woman pleased with her work. Then she glances at Hanna before staring again at her domestic. She lifts her flute and sips the champagne before returning the glass.)
You can imagine, dear friend, what happened then. I hadn’t informed my maid of the arrival of her assistant. And the young woman—we are now friends—knew nothing about her boss working as a maid.
(Mme. Nguyen takes another sip. She takes her time. The delightful, whimsical time of those have the power to give orders that cannot be contradicted ever. She languorously sinks deeper into her armchair, once again crossing her legs and finally staring again at her maid. She looks at her from top to bottom, then from bottom to top.)
Hanna: Mistress, what happened when Thirty-Seven of found herself serving her assistant as a maid?
Mme. Nguyen: (Staring at Thirty-Seven) I remember that during the first part of your service, you had knees like jelly, knees that trembled like a leaf. But I also remember that I was rather proud of my training. You kept your place. Your eyes were red from tears, but you managed to hold them back.
I confess that the test was perhaps too difficult. But I wanted to find out how my domestic would react in front of this beautiful young woman, who was also her assistant. When all was said and done, I was agreeably surprised.
I found it encouraging when your assistant began having fun with you, once her surprise was over and she had her fill of mocking your new job. When one has the power of humiliating her superior without fear of reprisal, it’s wonderful. She took great pleasure in knowing that the next day tongues would wag and everyone would know the guilty pleasures of the director’s secretary. When I invited her over, I didn’t realize how significant her presence would be. I believe that she decisively put you in the position of having to choose a new path in life.
Look at you today.
(Mme. Nguyen turns to Hanna as she puts her glass down.)
Once one dons the white apron, you no longer exist in the eyes of others. The effect is dramatic. She becomes less than shit—literally. It is as I said a while ago: The uniform defines the role. And the role for her is servitude. And when one is a domestic slave, one has to accept without complaint every humiliation for the greater good of the Mistresses. Even if there are catastrophes later.
Once her duties were over, Thirty-Seven vomited in the kitchen and cried. The fall of a middle-class woman who knew that this dinner sealed her fate. Her humiliation by her assistant established once and for all that Thirty-Seven’s true calling was that of a maid.
The role of the Mistress is not to worry about the sensibilities of her slave. Especially not in the case of emotional issues. I asked Thirty-Seven to clean the kitchen by using her hands to pick up the vomit. Of course, I was in a foul mood, and told my maid in no uncertain terms that I found it unacceptable to waste food this way and that I expected a good faith effort from her to clean the kitchen.
Hanna: What did you mean by a good faith effort, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: I meant that Thirty-Seven was to lick the floor on all fours in her black chambermaid uniform. After all, here was nothing contagious about her own vomit.
(Silence)
I really enjoyed watching her.
Hanna: What happened to Thirty-Seven next, Mistress?
According to Véronique, her return to the office became part of the company folklore—Véronique Is the young lady’s name.
Tell us the story, Thirty-Seven.
(Standing at attention, perfectly straight, her gloved hands still crossed over her apron, Thirty-Seven begins in carefully enunciated tones.)
Thirty-Seven: Thirty-Seven was summoned by her director, Madame.
(Mme. Nguyen takes an evil pleasure at rubbing it in, to show her absolute power over her domestic. Her voice was both sweet and cutting.)
Mme. Nguyen: Tell us what happened next. Our journalist friend here is curious to learn how things worked out, to learn what might happen to her when she becomes my maid.
(Thirty-Seven looks at Hanna, smiles briefly, then lowers her eyes. It’s amazing to see her immobile in her impeccable uniform. She must have learned that a domestic must never raise her eyes when she speaks. This gesture is part of her job as well as part of her humiliation while she recounts her story.)
Thirty-Seven: Thirty-Seven was interviewed for an hour during which she had to account for her behavior. She tried to make hear boss understand that it was an issue of her private life. But Monsieur le Directeur didn’t see it that way. He told her that when one has a position such as hers, one should not indulge in masochistic fantasies.
Mme. Nguyen: More…more!
Thirty-Seven: Monsieur le Directeur gave Thirty-Seven the choice of remaining and taking leave of Madame OR leaving the head office for a departmental position and remaining in Madame’s employ.
(With a wave of her hand, Mme. Nguyen silences her domestic, having heard enough.)
Mme. Nguyen: I’ll ring for you.
(Gracefully and discreetly, Thirty-Seven fades into the background after a quick curtsey.)
She is a good example of submission that is both psychological and public. Thirty-Seven is not a unique example, as you shall soon find out, Thirty-Eight.
This executive secretary could have lived a middle-class existence, which she once had, by the way. After her “domestication,” she ended up publically shamed and obliged to embrace her original fantasy of being a soubrette. She refused to renounce her servitude and accepted a less prestigious position in her company.
She learned today that her former assistant is now the executive secretary.
Moreover, I’ve invited Véronique to come here and celebrate her promotion. And Thirty-Seven will carry the serving platter, attired in her black chambermaid uniform, under the gaze of her former assistant, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. They are no longer members of the same class. The superior has now become a subordinate unworthy of the attention of the assistant: Such women are, for her, no longer of interest. She will say to all and sundry, “Did you know that this woman who was once an executive secretary is now nothing more than a maid?”
And, yes, a roman slave can have blue blood, but it’s still a slave. It makes no difference.
Hanna: Madame, Thirty-Seven referred to herself in the third person. Instead of saying, “I did such and such, ” she would say, “Thirty-Seven did such and such.” Why is this?
Mme. Nguyen: I make her refer to herself in the third-person to reduce her sense of individuality, implying the diminished importance of her in relation to whomever she is addressing. In other words, it helps establish and reinforce her belief that she is a slave. You’ll become intimately familiar with the benefits of this technique when you become my slave.
(Hanna appears to be becoming quite irritated with Mme. Nguyen’s repeated suggestion that Hanna become her slave.)
Hanna: Mistress, how could you be sure that Thirty-Seven wouldn’t flee the dinner party, wouldn’t break.
Mme. Nguyen: But it’s simple as we shall see.
Let us pose the question: Why is Thirty-Seven still here? What compelled her to lick my boots, to polish my grandmother’s silver service three times because I ordered it? It is because her mind, in spite of her studies, her good education, is that of a maid, a worm. Nothing can change that.
Let’s say that you live alone, playing the role of a soubrette for your private amusement—why not, I’ve done it myself. Let’s say, like Thirty-Seven, you think that your “real” life is that of a domestic. Then you are going to look for a way to realize this life even if it means casting aside the life you have been living. I respect that choice, and I encourage it.
But, It takes time.
Thirty-Seven is 43 years old. How long has she searched, rummaging through S/m or D/s magazines before being able to wear a white apron in the way she wants? It is one thing to chose to play a soubrette in a comedy but another to know that one really is a domestic slave, to accept its rules, its constraints, its punishments. To finally be what one always wanted to be, a servant who comes running at every tinkle of a little bell.
(Mme. Nguyen vigorously rings the little bell)
(The door opens.)
Thirty-Seven: Yes, Madame?
(Mme Nguyen looks at me with a smug smile, then, without even looking at her, gerstures her to leave with a wave of her hand.)
There is the proof, both physical and mental, that one day, Thirty-Seven will present herself—holding a serving platter, wearing the perfectly ironed livery of a chambermaid, white gloves covering her hands—as a full-time working maid in the employ of a Mistress.
That will be the first day in the rest of her true life. It’s only a question of time before she fully commits.
Hanna: How long do you expect that to take?
Mme. Nguyen: It takes time. One must not rush things. I always recalibrate my needs depending on my domestic—Thirty-Seven in this case. I correct her faux pas gently but firmly. She may need to be punished. But a warning to masochists…
Let me repeat: It’s not a question of playing Grand Guignol, of playing the submissive at the theater this evening. It’s only a moron who does that.
In my hands, she will acquire the spirit of a maid, one who plies her trade in public. She will cook or vacuum with a professionalism of the kind sought from a temp agency. Nothing must be left to chance, setting the table, whether in the French or English style, organizing a wardrobe, managing her Mistress’s time, serving and responding to the slightest snap of the Mistress’s fingers.
To repeat it again, it’s not a question of a simple D/s session, even if my role is to play with them, to humiliate them, to break them psychologically. My role is that of an educator. But I do take a lot of pleasure in insulting them. But, above all, it is a question of making them wholeheartedly accept their new life —the life that some of them have always dreamed about without daring to pass through the looking glass—and, as in the case of Thirty-Seven, with no longer any psychological possibility of being of passing back through.
in fact, it’s a second chance for them. They are finally what they have dreamed of being, that is to say, themselves, without any false pretenses.
When you become my maid, Thirty-Eight, you too will experience the ordeal. I’ll make sure that it’s a surprise when it happens. You won’t have clue it’s about to happen to you even though you know the ordeal is coming.
What will it be like? I can only speculate, but let me describe a possible scenario, a scenario based on our earlier phone call. You mentioned that you and your rival Audrey are vying for the attention of the same man, Thomas. This suggests that I should invite Audrey over for lunch and repeat what I did to Thirty-Seven. While you’re in the kitchen, I’ll ring the bell, and you’ll enter the dining room, attired in your black maid’s uniform, a white apron tied about your waist, a maid’s cap on your head, well-polished flats for your footwear, a serving platter held in your white-gloved hands. In contrast, Audrey will be wearing a well-tailored suit, comfortably seated in one of my leather armchairs, chatting with me, complaining about that bitch Hanna who is trying to steal her boyfriend. When you see us talking, you’ll feel the almost unstoppable urge to flee back into the kitchen. But you won’t do that because you know that I’ll award you 100 penalty hours if you do. You’ll have to stand your ground, endure the embarrassment of having your private fantasy revealed to Audrey, listen to her haze you mercilessly while you politely serve her champagne under my watchful eye.
But your ordeal will differ from Thirty-Seven’s. You’re self-employed, so there’s no boss who will demand that you abandon your S/m predilections, no assistant who will gossip about your fantasies of being a maid. So, I’ll have to take a different tack. After you serve refreshments, I’ll have you remain in the room, awaiting further orders, or so I’ll claim. But my real agenda will be to let you overhear my conversation with Audrey. At an appropriate point during our conversation, I’ll make an offhand remark about how wonderful it is to have a maid to do one’s housework. I’ll follow up by asking Audrey if she has a maid to do her housework. I know she doesn’t, because you told me so, but she doesn’t know that I know. She’ll of course answer that she doesn’t. To help her out, I’ll offer your services to do a first rate cleaning job at her place. To sweeten the pot, I’ll insist that Audrey tell me if your services were in any way unsatisfactory. If so, I’ll tell her that I’ll punish you and send you back to do the job again, this time to her satisfaction. Of course, Audrey will jump at the chance to be the Mistress and you, the maid, to find fault with everything you do, to humiliate you, to take revenge against her rival. I’m sure, despite your best efforts, Audrey will find numerous faults with your work.
Audrey will relax by surfing the Web or watching TV, while you, her former rival, slaves away cleaning her toilet. What act could basically illustrate the differences in your statuses better than that?
You told me that Audrey is bisexual, so in addition to housework, she may insist on services of a more intimate nature. Classifying this type of service as “housekeeping” is a stretch, but I won’t complain about it. In any event, I’m confident that she’ll find fault with your oral technique.
It goes without saying that you’ll be punished. I’ll invite Audrey over to witness your discipline. Doubtless she’ll invite Thomas to accompany her. You’ll greet them at the door and show them to their seats. You’ll then walk to a dining chair placed a few feet in front of Audrey and Thomas and bend over the back of the chair. I’ll grab the hem of your uniform and flip it over your back, exposing your naked posterior to my guests. Then the punishment itself will begin. Your ass will dance an obscene dance to the rhythm of my cane. You can imagine what Thomas’s reaction will be. He’ll be sure to find it “stimulating.” For this reason, after your caning, I’ll lock you into a chastity belt to ensure that you can neither offer comfort nor receive it from Thomas.
Thomas will be desperate for relief. Being the gracious host I am, I’ll offer Thomas And Audrey the use of my guest bedroom. There’ll be a “whoosh” as Thomas grabs Audrey and hightails It for the bedroom. While Audrey is providing relief for Thomas, I’ll have you scrub the hall outside the guest bedroom, where you’ll hear expressions of delight of the sort available to Mistresses but not to maids. You’ll have time to ponder the fact that Thomas will not be particularly eager to date a low-status woman wearing a chastity belt. Your rival Audrey will have won the battle for Thomas’s affections.
Of course, this scenario is hypothetical, intended only to give you an idea of what you ordeal might be like. I like surprises, so expect your ordeal to be completely different and unexpected.
(Hanna’s face is flushed, and she appears to be in some sort of trance…times passes…The flush fades from her face.)
Hanna: (Changing the subject) You spoke of punishments, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Corporal and psychological…
The Servant’s Notebook lists the punishments to which Thirty-Seven is subject. They range from a slap to the face to a whipping, and others such as denying her food. I can also incarcerate her in the cellar, make her wear a chastity belt, and so forth. I think There are enough punishments to satisfy the whim of the fussiest Mistress.
The punishments on my list are, it seems to me, more intimate in nature than dramatic.
I’m fairly sure, Thirty-Eight, that the punishments that are good for Thirty-Seven would be good for you. By the way, have you ever been whipped? If not, I could arrange for Thirty-Seven to familiarize you with the cane, to give you 12 strokes, to give a taste of what being a real maid is like. Shall I have Thirty-Seven give you 12 strokes?
Hanna: Absolutely not!
Mme. Nguyen: Tut, tut, Thirty-Eight, you forgot to address me as “Mistress.” That will cost you an extra 6 strokes with the cane. Look, if you want to give your readers a taste of what being one of my maids is like, there’s no better way than experience it yourself. Besides, it doesn’t commit you to becoming my maid. Think of it as research for your article, as an educational experience. After all, they say that a maid’s ass is her seat of learning.
Hanna: But 6 strokes is too many. How about 3?
Mme. Nguyen: You know I don’t negotiate with my maids. A maid must accept the punishment her Mistress mandates. Also, once again, you forgot to address me as “Mistress,” so now it’s 12 extra strokes.
Hanna: (Squirms in her chair for several minutes, probably thinking about Mme. Nguyen’s offer to treat her to a whipping.) Ok, I’ll do it Mistress, not because I want to, but for the benefit of my readers.
(Mme. Nguyen rolls her eyes.)
Mme. Nguyen: As you wish, Thirty-Eight. Beg me, Thirty-Eight. Tell me that you’ll accept being caned by Thirty-Seven, that you want a proper discipline that you won’t forget, that you want the cane laid on as if you really were a maid. Plus, offer me some extra strokes as a gift to show your appreciation for being allowed to interview me. Finally, stand up and curtsey before you begin to beg. Humiliate yourself.
Hanna: (Hesitates before slowly rising from her chair and curtsying.) Mistress, Thirty-Eight deserves to be disciplined for disrespecting you, for resisting your suggestions that she become your maid. She begs you to let Thirty-Seven punish her with a cane. Please don’t let Thirty-Seven administer less than the full 24 strokes that Thirty-Eight has earned. Have her lay on the strokes as if Thirty-Eight is a recalcitrant maid. It would gratify Thirty-Eight if penalty strokes are added if she doesn’t accept her discipline with the graciousness demanded by her Mistress. Thirty-Eight hopes that Mistress will accept a gift of 6 additional strokes, not because Thirty-Eight hopes for mercy, but because Thirty-Eight wishes to express her gratitude for being allowed to interview her Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: You laid it on with trowel, as Shakespeare would say. All in all, not bad, Thirty-Eight. You still have a lot to learn though: You didn’t lower your eyes, but I’ll overlook your faux pas this once. Unfortunately, you can’t possibly expect me to go to all the trouble of punishing you for a gift of 6 measly strokes. Try again.
Hanna: Uh…Mistress, would you accept a gift of 8… (She hesitates for a moment.) I beg you, Mistress, would you please accept a gift of 10 strokes?
Mme. Nguyen: Hint, Thirty-Eight: The number of strokes must be a multiple of 6 and, in this case, more than 6. You have one more chance.
Hanna: (A resigned look on Hanna’s face.) Mistress, Thirty-Eight begs you, implores you, beseeches you, importunes you to accept her humble gift of 12 strokes.
Mme. Nguyen: Why are you offering this gift, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: To thank Mistress for granting me an interview. Plus…never mind, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Plus what, Thirty-Eight? (Lost in thought for a moment) What is the real reason you’re offering this gift, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: (Blushes) Because Thirty-Eight is ashamed to admit that you’re right: She has fantasies of becoming a maid, Mistress. She needs to be punished for failing to have the courage of her convictions. She’s too frightened to become your maid, to experience the humiliation of servitude, but she would like to get a taste of what it’s like.
Mme. Nguyen: (Thinks for a while.) You have what it takes to be a maid, Thirty-Eight. I understand your fears. Perhaps I can help you overcome them, help you screw your courage to the sticking place.
(Mme. Nguyen picks up the bell and delicately shakes it. The door opens.)
Thirty-Seven: Yes, Madame?
Mme. Nguyen: Take Thirty-Eight into the kitchen and apply 36 stripes to her ass with a cane. In the nude. Treat her as if she’s one of my maids.
Hanna: In the nude!
(Thirty-Seven smiles a wicked smile and grabs Hanna, dragging her into the kitchen.)
Mme. Nguyen: (To herself.) There’s no reason to record her screams. (Mme. Nguyen leans over and switches off the voice recorder.. Time passes…Mme. Nguyen switches the recorder back on. She’s sitting in her leather armchair wearing Hanna’s outfit. Hanna enters the living room, rubbing her ass, tears streaming down her face, wearing a cleaning lady’s smock, feet shod in rubber clogs, the jiggling of her chest revealing that she’s Not wearing a bra and suggesting that she might not be wearing any panties either.)
How do you like my new outfit, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: (She clearly cannot believe her eyes, but there has been a shift in her demeanor. She seems to have a newfound respect and admiration for Mme. Nguyen. She curtsies.) Uh…It’s stunning, Mistress, it suits you well.
Mme. Nguyen: Thirty-Eight, the top button of your uniform is open. That would be 25 penalty hours if you were my maid. A closed top button looks more professional. “Décolletage” does not become a maid. Plus, during hot weather it helps make the uniform more uncomfortable to wear: It becomes hot and sticky, constantly reminding the slave of her status. Button it now.
(Hanna buttons the button.)
I’m sure you’re wondering when you’ll get your outfit back. If you were my maid, you wouldn’t ever be getting it back. I would commandeer it. But trust me; you really don’t want it back right now. I neglected to inform you that Thirty-Seven expects to get paid for going to the trouble of whipping you. But she doesn’t want money for her services: She wants you to do one of her chores this afternoon after the interview, in particular, scrubbing the floors. After she determines that the job you did is up to my exacting standards, and I do mean exacting, you’ll get your clothes back. Think of it as some more maid experience that you can describe to your readers.
(Hanna appears to be too subdued from her recent experiences to protest.)
I suspect that you probably don’t want to sit down right now. Besides, I would never let a woman wearing a cleaning lady’s smock sit in one of my leather chairs. What would the neighbors think? It’s a dilemma. So here’s what I propose: Pretend you’re my maid and have been summoned into my presence—by the way, my maids are not permitted to rub their posteriors in my presence. You’ll stand at attention like Thirty-Seven. Here’s your notebook and pen so we can continue the interview. When you’re not actively using them, hold them in both hands in front of your stomach like Thirty-Seven. Give me a curtsey.
(Hanna attempts a curtsey.)
Lower your eyes, Thirty-Eight. Show some respect.
(Hanna obediently lowers her eyes.)
We’re going to have to work on your curtsey, but we can worry about that later. While you were otherwise occupied, I reviewed the interview on your voice recorder. This suggested some thoughts I’d like to restart the interview with…If you have no objections, here goes.
(Hanna makes no objections.)
(Mme. Nguyen clears her throat.) Mine is an educational role: I mold the mind of my domestic object so that she meets my expectations as nearly as possible, so that my servant understands my deepest beliefs, and more importantly, it seems to me, so that she comes to think, to live, to reflect like a domestic and no longer like someone of higher status. Thirty-Seven has become a mentally inferior being. She has come to terms with her condition, and I don’t think I’m mistaken in saying that my maid will become a marketable domestic. She will leave behind the trappings of a lower middle class woman for that of a chambermaid.
Hanna: Mistress, has Thirty-Seven really abandoned everything to be a domestic?
Mme. Nguyen: Well, for all practical purposes, she’s already done it. It’s true she has a life outside of the hours she works for me, but, if push comes to shove, she’ll abandon her outside life before she abandons her life as a servant.
When someday she decides to don the apron 24/7, it will simply mean that she has stopped worrying about what people think. One could call it freedom, to finally be oneself.
Hanna: Mistress, what happens when Thirty-Seven has worked all the hours she owes you?
Mme. Nguyen: I’ll organize a sale. A friend is interested.
Or I may just keep her. I haven’t made up my mind. By the way, it’s always the same dilemma. What do you do when a domestic works all the hours she owes? I believe that it’s like a period of mourning: One must get rid of everything that recalls the dearly departed. It’s the best thing to do.
I’d like to take this opportunity to tell the submissives reading this article that servitude is the art of dependence. Submissives only exist for the Other, without expecting anything in return, neither tenderness nor financial compensation. By the way, this is what makes them different from household staff, who have the right to complain about their work conditions. But a submissive’s life only has meaning if her personality has been shaped using specific mental conditioning techniques.
Hanna: You’ll sell her, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course. Thirty-Seven is a slave. She can’t stop being a maid just because she has served all the hours she owes me. Servitude is now in her blood. She needs someone to serve. I can either renegotiate my agreement with Thirty-Seven, have her agree to serve more hours, or arrange for her to serve another Mistress by holding a “sale.” The proceeds of the sale would actually be my commission, paid by her new Master or Mistress, for finding her a new position.
(Mme. Nguyen rings the little bell. She runs her outstretched hands over her heavy satin qipao to smooth it out. She gets up when Thirty-Seven opens the door. She silently walks over to Thirty-Seven and adjusts a stray lock of hair dangling from the slave’s white cap. A sweet gesture.)
What were you doing?
Thirty-Seven: Ironing Madame’s smoking jacket.
(Mme. Nguyen turns toward Hanna.)
Mme. Nguyen: I’ve been invited to the opera. You’ll probably be scrubbing floors while I enjoy myself, Thirty-Eight.
(Mme. Nguyen gently turns Thirty-Seven’s face toward me as the servant lowers her eyes.)
The sale will have several aspects, such as clothing. Thirty-Seven will wear a simple but elegant gray suit. The skirt won’t be so tight that it’s hard to remove should the buyer request an intimate inspection. In addition, the condition of the slave will be checked.
(Without so much as a say-so, Mme. Nguyen examines the inside of one of Thirty-Seven’s ears. The slave doesn’t resist. She then orders Thirty-Seven to open her mouth wide, examines her teeth, and checks for bad breath.)
Hygiene is an important property of the object to be sold. The slave must take a shower everyday and brush her teeth before serving my meals. It’s not simply because Thirty-Seven acts as a maid-of-all-work—which means she has bad breath, smells of BO, and has dirty fingernails—but because we want Thirty-Seven to be healthy. One doesn’t have to be an expert to look into the whites of her eyes to see that she’s not sick.
(She checks the whites of each eye of her servant.)
There’ll be some mandatory precautions taken such as a visit to a doctor for a complete checkup, including an HIV test.
(Mme. Nguyen examines Thirty-Seven’s hair in a very professional manner.)
No one wants a maid who has dandruff. It’s completely unacceptable. I can’t stand dandruff on a black uniform.
(As Hanna watches, Mme. Nguyen weighs Thirty-Seven’s breasts with her hands.)
She’s no longer daddy’s little princess.
(Mme. Nguyen silently runs her hand over her maid’s ass in a way that suggests ownership. With a swoop of her hand, she lifts the hem of the uniform, revealing the slave’s crotch.)
(Hanna’s face has an expression of astonishment.)
Hanna: You make her wear a chastity belt, Mistress?
(Mme. Nguyen smiles as she drops the hem of the uniform.)
Mme. Nguyen: She’s being punished: I caught her diddling herself. A maid’s job is to work, not masturbate. You don’t diddle, do you, Thirty-Eight?
(Thirty-Seven blushes and lowers her eyes. Mme. Nguyen points at the empty champagne flutes on the table.)
Clear the table.
(Leaving her slave to do her job, Mme. Nguyen walks out to the terrace of her apartment and motions Hanna to follow. Hanna is now standing outside in a cleaning lady’s uniform in full view of passersby. Hanna looks mortified.)
The other day, a Mistress friend of mine asked why Thirty-Seven doesn’t wear a collar. It’s a good question. So why doesn’t Thirty-Seven wear a slave’s collar? But she does: It’s her uniform and her white apron.
Hanna: A collar and an apron are the same thing, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course.
Believe me, when Thirty-Seven’s assistant saw her wearing a servant’s uniform, her boss was nothing more than a maid in her mind. It’s an incredibly strong image. How do you think Thirty-Seven could respect herself at her office. For everyone there, she had the soul of a submissive. It was no longer possible for her to choose a different path. The illusion of status had been shattered.
The sight of her boss wearing a white apron with a serving platter in her hands caused Véronique to burst out laughing, a laugh of revenge. Véronique said, “Madame plays at being a boss with her manicured nails, lording over her subordinates with her files, but now I discover that she nothing but a maid.”
Thirty-Seven’s hands held the platter with a death grip, but she remained standing at attention. Even when Véronique asked for permission to slap her.
It was as if Véronique suddenly had a weight lifted from her shoulders, a very great weight.
Seeing her boss enslaved meant that she could take her life back. But that’s none of my business. What happens at the office is also none of my business. But one thing is certain: Each has chosen her own path.
But back to Thirty-Seven. I think that she did the best thing she could do under the circumstances: Remain at my disposal, resign from her position, and take another job. These days, I’m sure that Véronique takes a malicious pleasure in recounting that evening.
When I talked about the ordeal earlier, that’s what it’s all about. The slave cannot go back. She must come to terms with her new life. Even if she immediately resigned her position, there’ s no guarantee that she could have found a new position as an executive secretary. Nothing is certain.
Deep down, this is what my work is about. I succeed in my job by betting that my maid will one day quit her job to become a full-time maid. In Thirty-Seven’s case, I believe that I’ll win my wager. In your case, Thirty-Eight, I think I’ll win my wager that you’ll ask to become my maid.
(Hanna vigorously shakes her head back and forth in denial.)
Hanna: (Changing the subject again…) Could you say some more about “gifts,” Mistress.
Oh yes! Gifts. You can spIll a lot of ink over nothing on this subject.
I have to to be clear about this: I ask for nothing from my slaves. That’s the truth: Nothing at all. I’m not a “professional” even if I am part of the BDSM scene. I’m not here for the ride. It’s not my thing, even though I like to train, to have a slave under my boot. As I said at the beginning of this interview, I like to condition the mind of a being to make it a long term, compliant, servile domestic object that I can eventually sell.
Contrary to what one might believe, by refusing to let a slave pay for my services, I make her more dependent because she knows that one day I might dismiss her with a snap of my finger. There are no financial considerations. She doesn’t pay to be a slave. No! She is a slave because she is dedicated to serving for free. On the other hand, what I can do—and it is stipulated in their terms of service—when I feel they are ready, is to rent them out.
Hanna: You rent them out, Mistress?
Yes. It’s good experience for the slave to come to grips with the life of a domestic.
Do you want an example? It’s simple. Recently, I was strolling the Boulevard St. Germaine with a friend. Like a women possessed, I became transfixed in front of a “MacDouglas,” a short trench coat of supple white leather.
It was Sublime. But the price was as high as the quality of the leather. I dithered in front my friend, but I knew that it would blow a hole in my budget if I bought it.
Three phone calls later, I was sure that I could swing it. Even if it was going to take more time than I wanted to raise the money, Thirty-Seven was going to be rented as cleaning lady by a cleaning company for a month—which would cover a small part of the purchase—then would be a temporary chambermaid at a small hotel. For what it’s worth, recall the beginning of our conversation when I said she was registered with a temp agency. Thirty-Seven’s also paid for her own trousseau even though I selected her uniforms. Between us, I prefer domestic elegance. You should never be seen with a maid reassembling a Portuguese domestic. Elegance and style, that’s my motto.
The cost of her clothes and meals are counted as extra hours of service—180 hours extra—that Thirty-Seven paid by serving as a maid-of-all-work. Think about, Thirty-Eight. When I win our wager, and you become my maid, in addition the the 400 hours of service you’ll owe me, you’ll have to serve 180 extra hours to pay for your uniforms and meals for a total of 580 hours. Just imagine all the humiliation you’ll have to endure: Serving your betters, scrubbing the floor, accepting discipline, enduring the contempt of the public. I can hardly wait.
Hanna: Could you say more about uniforms and meals, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Let’s start with the trousseau.
(Mme. Nguyen opens a catalog and shows Hanna the photos.)
Here are photos of three typical uniforms in the catalog of the “Au Gant d’Or” at the Place Victor Hugo in Paris. I recommend this boutique, even though the uniforms are a bit expensive. The front desk is very professional and efficient.
It seems to me that one’s maid should start out with simple models without pretentious and sophisticated details. It is important that even a quick glance at the uniform identifies it as a maid’s uniform. Two of each uniform should be purchased so that there is at least one uniform in presentable condition.
Once the uniforms are bought, they are the domestic slave’s responsibility. You shouldn’t hesitate to inspect her uniforms periodically and make her re-iron them if necessary. I’m uncompromising on this point. And the same goes for my table service, her white gloves, the shine on her shoes, and so forth. When I go shopping, she will carry my purchases as trails behind me in a neutral-colored raincoat.
The slave should wear little or no makeup.
Another thing, before your maid starts her service, send her to the hairdresser to get a simple, short haircut that won’t let her hair cover her face. Supplement the haircut with wigs, for example, to project an image of elegance at a soirée.
What about the meals of a domestic object?
This is obvious. Since she is not full-time, there is no need to make special arrangements. She should eat something before reporting for duty. On the other hand, if, for some reason, you need her for a weekend, that’s a horse of a different color. However, I never spend more than 2 euros per day on a slave. They aren’t worth more. Leftovers should be sufficient to meet their needs. In many countries, the inhabitants eat only one meal a day and don’t die as a result. Also the maid shouldn’t eat during her hours of service and shouldn’t spend more than 15 minutes when she does eat.
At any rate, everyone, it seems to me, should manage their domestic object as they see fit. If you have a meal a bit too refined for a maid—ordered from a caterer for example—don’t hesitate to feed your maid cat food, dog biscuits, or kibble. It’s good training for your domestic, an important part of her education. It shows her her true status.
Finally, let me discuss sleeping arrangements.
When the slave has to stay overnight, she’ll sleep in the kitchen on a folding cot or an air mattress. She’ll relieve herself in a makeshift chamber pot. Plus she’ll have to get up an hour early to clean everything and get her uniform ready.
When I require her services for a longer time, for example, a summer holiday, she uses a shed away from the house that has been equipped with electricity and water. She may then organize her life as she sees fit.
(Silence For a moment as Hanna studies her notes.)
Hanna: Mistress, I think I’ve got everything I came for. This concludes the interview. Thank you for your time and patience in answering my questions.
(Hanna flips her notebook shut and assumes the position of a maid awaiting orders.)
Mme. Nguyen: Well, Thirty-Eight, it looks like I’ve lost our wager. You’re still haven’t asked to be my maid. I guess I owe you 50 hours of Thirty-Seven’s service.
(Hanna looks highly conflicted and about to say something.)
Hanna: Wait, Mistress…
(Hanna scribbles furiously in her notebook, rips out a page, and hands it to Mme Nguyen.)
Mme. Nguyen: What’s this? (She reads the note.) A Note giving me the option of enslaving Hanna A____ as my maid at any time I so choose, signed by Hanna A____. I can’t accept this, Thirty-Eight. (Hands the note back to Hanna.) To become my maid, you’re going to have to humiliate yourself by begging to be my maid. You’re going to have to find the courage of your convictions to become what you’ve always wanted to be: A domestic slave. I can’t make this decision for you; you have to do it yourself. When you’re shining my shoes, scrubbing my floors, cleaning my toilets, you have to know that you’re doing these tasks because of a decision you’ve made, not a decision I’ve made. When you’re imprisoned in a stinky, sweaty maid’s uniform, you have to know it’s because you locked yourself in your uniform and threw away the key. Everyone has to know that you’re a maid because that’s what you wanted.
Hanna: (Starts to tremble.) Madame Nguyen, I concede the wager. I cannot let you humiliate yourself like this. You’re a Mistress, and I’m not. If anyone should be humiliated, it should be me. It’s what I’ve always wanted: To be a maid. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by, I must overcome my fears. You’ve won. I’ll pay you the 580 hours of service I owe you by serving as your maid.
(Hanna falls to her knees and begins kissing the toes of Mme. Nguyen’s boots. Hanna doesn’t notice, as she bends over, that her cleaning lady’s uniform hikes itself upwards, uncovering her posterior, a posterior criss-crossed with red stripes, a posterior whose shameful dampness glistens in the late afternoon sun, a dampness that reveals what truly motivates her, a dampness that overcame all her fears about becoming a maid.)
Please, Mistress, Thirty-Eight begs to be your maid.
Mme. Nguyen: (Speaking with a subtle disdain together with a pinch of contempt.) My God, Thirty-Eight, to be reduced to licking my boots for pleasure. You really are less than shit. Get up and pull your uniform back over your ass. I expect even an untrained maid to show a modicum of decorum.
(Hanna stands up, tugs at her uniform, and curtseys.)
I knew that I’d win In the end. But right now, we need to settle a few things. Before I’ll accept you as my maid, you’ll have to pass a couple of tests such as my famous serving-a-glass-of-water test. If you pass the tests, then you’ll sign a contract at which time you become my maid. But you already know all this. By the way, do you have any objections if I commander your outfit?
Hanna: But Mistress, what will Thirty-Eight wear home?
Mme. Nguyen: First, you’re wearing a perfectly good outfit. Wear that home. Second, you’ll now address me as “Madame,” not “Mistress.” That’s a 10 hour penalty. Third, you didn’t answer my question. That’s a 25 hour penalty. You now owe a total of 615 hours. To repeat my question: Any objections?
Hanna: Uh…No, Madame. But Madame, Thirty-Eight can’t wear this uniform home! What will the neighbors think?
Mme. Nguyen: I don’t care what the neighbors think. Perhaps I should invite them over and have you serve them tea. Pay attention: I don’t argue with my maids. My job is to give the orders, and yours, to obey. That’s 50 extra penalty hours for arguing. You now owe 665 hours.
(Hanna shudders in ecstasy. She finally has what she has so desperately wanted: A strict Mistress to train her as a maid, a strict mistress who will demand nothing less than perfection, a strict mistress who will show Hanna her place.)
Hanna: Madame, may Thirty-Eight speak?
Mme. Nguyen: What is it, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: Madame, thank you punishing Thirty-Eight as she deserves. Please be strict with her so that she learns to serve Madame better.
Mme. Nguyen: Thirty-Eight won’t serve me “better;” she’ll serve me perfectly…or else! Now, fetch me a glass of water. Show me that you have what it takes to be my maid, to be my domestic object, to be my slave.
(Hanna curtseys and leaves for the kitchen.)
Mme. Nguyen: (To herself.) This is going to be fun.
(Mme. Nguyen leans over and switches off the voice recorder.)
When the door opened, Sophie was surprised to see Thirty-Seven standing there, wearing a well-tailored suit rather than a maid’s uniform.
“Thirty-Seven, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m now called Béatrice, but I don’t mind being called Thirty-Seven. Please do come in.”
Béatrice led Sophie into the living room and motioned her to sit on one of the leather chairs.
Sophie said, “I thought you had become a full-time maid after I sold you. What happened?”
Béatrice replied, “I was a full-time maid, but at my last job, my Mistress asked me if I wanted to be her head of household, to supervise her other maids. She told me that if I didn’t accept, she would appoint the sadistic Laure instead. So I accepted. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I’m very good at cracking the whip. My time in service taught me the secrets of servant psychology, how to push a maid’s buttons to get her to obey, to make her want to obey, to make her need to obey. I also learned how much fun it was to be the Mistress, to watch the maids squirm under my strict supervision, to punish them for the slightest transgression, to have them kiss my toes. I guess that submission and dominance are two different sides of the same coin. I eventually left my former employer to set up a firm that offers domestic supervisory services.”
“But how did you end up here?”
“Well, I heard that Hanna was looking for a maid to do her housekeeping. So I approached her with an offer: If she hired me as her head of household, I would take care of both finding and supervising her maid. For a fee of course. Hanna was happy to let me worry about the maid so that she could focus on her journalistic activities.”
Béatrice picked up a little bell from the coffee table and rang it.
A short time later a maid walked into the room in her uniform and apron, stood at attention before the two women, white-gloved hands resting on her apron, curtseyed, lowered her eyes, and said, “At your service, Mistress.”
Sophie said, “Thirty-Eight! This is your own apartment. What are you doing here as a maid?”
“Thirty-Eight, tell Sophie what happened.”
Having difficulty maintaining her composure, Thirty-Eight said, “Mme. Béatrice offered to act as my head of household. We negotiated a contract. I insisted that contract contain clauses similar to the ones in your contracts, Mme. Sophie, ones that specified punishments and so forth, ones that insisted on strict supervision of the maid.”
Thirty-Eight appeared reluctant to say anything more, but Béatrice insisted, “Tell us what happened next.* That’s an order!”
“Mme. Sophie, after I had signed the contract, Mme. Beatrice said that it would take awhile to find a maid. Since I needed a maid right away to do my housework, she proposed that I temporarily serve as the maid, under her supervision. After all, she said, I had plenty of experience and was registered as a cleaning lady. She emphasized that it would be temporary until she found a full-time maid….Please Mme. Béatrice, don’t make me continue.”
With a don’t-disobey-me tone in her voice, Béatrice said, “Tell us more, Thirty-Eight.”
“Mistress, I stupidly agreed since it was only temporary. I figured, ‘What the hell.’ But then she reminded me that I had insisted that whatever maid she hired had to be under contract, that it was my rule. She just happened have a contract that she had prepared for me to sign. She laid it in front of me, reviewed the terms of the contract, and pointed out the clause stipulating that the contract was ‘temporary’ until a full-time maid was hired. She said that I had to put on a maid’s uniform before signing the contract because I had insisted that everything be done strictly according to protocol. So, once in my old maid-of-all-work uniform, standing at attention in front of my own desk, with Mme. Béatrice seated behind it in my Herman Miller Aeron chair, I signed the contract.”
“Don’t stop, Thirty-Eight, do continue, inquiring minds want to know.”
“Please, Mistress, it’s too embarrassing.”
Béatrice said, “It’s either obey me or six stripes with the cane.”
“Mistress, after I signed the contract, I curtseyed and asked Mme. Béatrice how long it would take to find a full-time maid. She said that as long as my service was satisfactory, there was no rush to find a full-time maid. Then she swished her cane In front of my face and said that it would assure that my service was satisfactory.”
“Anything else, Thirty-Eight?”
“Yes, Mistress, you informed me that your head-of-household contract with me had a term of 2 years, and, unbeknownst to me, I had given you the option of extending an It by additional two years as often as you pleased.”
“Which meant?”
Thirty-Eight looked like she wanted to sink in the ground. “Which meant that I was a slave with no hope of emancipation, Mistress. I can’t run away because I’m my own Mistress. And I gave you the right to supervise me as you saw fit.”
Sophie said, “That’s brilliant, Béatrice, you made Hanna her own maid who reports to you and, besides that, pays you for the privilege. She’s going to have to learn how to embrace her slavery once and for all, to become the being she has always yearned to be. You’re surpassed me as a Mistress. I salute you.”
Béatrice said, “Thank you, Sophie, that’s why I had Thirty-Eight invite you over. I knew you’d appreciate it. Let’s celebrate Thirty-Eight’s downfall. Thirty-Eight, fetch two flutes of champagne.”
Thirty-Eight curtseyed and returned to the kitchen.
Béatrice turned to Sophie and said, “How’s the book editing business these days?”
Sophie replied, “Not so good since Amazon.com arrived on the scene. I’m looking for some moonlighting opportunities.”
“Sorry to hear it. My business is doing quite well. in fact, I’m making more money than when I was an executive secretary. It turns out that becoming your maid was one of the best things that ever happened to me. By the way, did you know that I’m looking for my own personal maid. Do you have any suggestions? I’d appreciate it if you do.”
“Well…there’s a Mistress of my acquaintance who fears that’s she’s gotten too big for her breeches. She’s afraid to admit it, but I think that she wants to be taken down a peg or two to restore her sense of balance. But she’s never found the right Mistress to serve. She might be willing to serve you if you were willing to be gentle with her.”
Béatrice replied, “You know that we Mistresses never negotiate with slaves. If she wants to be my maid, she’ll do it on my terms. And who might this ‘friend’ of yours be?”
Sophie looked down and stammered, “She’s someone I’m intimately familiar with.”
Béatrice smiled and said, “I thought as much. Here’s what you should do: Take my card, and have your friend report to my office at 10 am tomorrow in her maid’s uniform. And tell her not to be late.”
“Sophie will be there at 10 am sharp.”
Béatrice glowered at Sophie.
Sophie blushed and said, “Mistress…Please forgive me Mistress.”
“Fat chance,” Béatrice thought to herself and grinned, “This will be fun.”
Translated and embellished by T. H. Enerdly
Translator’s Note
This story, in the form of an interview, was inspired by a file, written in French in the first decade of the 21st century, found in a now moribund Yahoo Group, and probably authored by someone who styles herself as “Hanna, femme de chambre.” My translation is quite free and has been “embellished” to give the story more of a Mistress-to-maid flavor.Introduction
My name is Hanna A____, I’m a freelance journalist, and I’m planning on writing a story about Madame Nguyen, a book editor who has a hobby of training professional women as actual maids, of letting these women experience the reality of their fantasies, of giving them a taste of humiliation, as I found out to my intense embarrassment. She’s currently training a 43 year-old woman, a former executive secretary, as a maidservant. After a long telephone conversation, during which the 32 year-old Mme. Nguyen asked me so many questions that I felt as if I were being interviewed instead of her, she granted me an interview with her at her duplex in the XIII arrondissement of Paris.In case it’s not clear to the reader, I must point out that Mme. Nguyen is a Mistress in the BDSM sense of the word.
During the interview, we discussed her complex approach to training a maid. She emphasized that she was only speaking for herself and not for other Mistresses. Nevertheless, her methods are quite instructive. She likes to recruit professional women who have a secret desire to experience servitude and offers them the opportunity to moonlight as maids while still living their “civilian” lives, or so it seems at first.
Mme. Nguyen lives near the Place d’Italie, on the Avenue de Choisy, in one of those hidden places in the Capital, at the back of a courtyard that leads to a former workshop that has been converted into a duplex. The location is quiet, but full of life, a place where the few remaining artisans sometimes cross paths with Rembrandt wannabes.
At her residence, Mme. Nguyen greeted me in traditional Chinese dress, the cheongsam. The interview took place on the first floor of her duplex in the living room, a large open space with simple furniture, lending a “Zen” feel to the room.
The transcript of my interview with Mme. Nguyen appears in the next section.
Hanna’s Transcript
(Mme. Nguyen and Hanna sit down on leather armchairs. Hanna leans over places a voice recorder on a coffee table and switches it on.)Hanna: Do you prefer to be called “Madame” or “Mistress?”
Mme. Nguyen: The term “Mistress” is overused. It has a very specific meaning. But I don’t mind being called “Mistress.” However, I don’t like my current maid to call me “Mistress,” even though my role in our relationship might be described that way. I prefer the term “Madame.” It suits me best.
But you, dear Hanna, may address me as “Mistress” if you like. Why don’t you give it a try? Each time you speak to me, either start or end your sentence with “Mistress.” It’ll give you insight into my methods. And you’ll experience some of the feelings of those middle class women who humiliate themselves by begging to become my servant. In other words, You’ll feel as if you’re applying to be my maid. Of course, both of us know that that’s not the case, but the emotions that will be engendered will help you write a more insightful story, a story, quite frankly, that will titillate your readers.
Hanna: Well…I’m DEFINITELY not applying to be your maid, but I suppose you’re right: Calling you “Mistress” might help me write a better story. Lets see, where were we? (Glances at her notes.) Uh…Mis…I can’t do that. It’s too embarrassing.
Mme. Nguyen: You can do it, Hanna. Remember, it’s for the sake of your readers.
Hanna: OK… (Tries again) Calling you “Mistress” is embarrassing. Uh…Mistress, is there anything else you wish to say about your preference for the term “Madame?”
Mme. Nguyen: (Grinning) Trust me, dear, you’ll get used to calling me “Mistress.” But to answer your question: Yes. There are a couple of situations stipulated in my protocol of servitude in which my domestic object may call me “Mistress.”
First, on occasions when my maid addresses my person in public. The term “Mistress” is the honorific that many domestics use to address their employers, and thus I see no reason to forbid the use of the term.
Second, in the specific situation in which she is directly serving my person and talking about my wardrobe. For example, “The dress of my mistress is ironed,” or “The boots of my mistress are polished,” and so forth.
Consider the sentence: “The dress of my mistress is ironed.” It specifically mentions my dress and my person—but not my maid, even though she’s the one that did the ironing. When my maid repeatedly uses sentences like this, sentences in the passive voice, sentences that suppress her role in caring for my garments, she will unconsciously begin to attribute more value to my garments and my person than to herself. She will come to venerate my dirty panties with as much devotion as my brand-new suit. The same strategy can be extended to cleaning. She will began to treat the dust in my bedroom with as much devotion as my satin sheets.
Basically, my domestic object will be subliminally coerced to accept essentialism, the doctrine that every individual has a unique essence and that everything she touches becomes imbued with her essence. My essence will be treated as something of great value and that of my domestic object won’t. This means that my dirty panties will be worthy of worship, but hers won’t, assuming, of course, that I would let my maid wear panties in the first place.
That is why, among other things, that she has offered part of her life to serve me: She senses in my person the essence of someone capable of turning her fantasies into reality. However, I must be perfectly clear on one point: We are not role playing. Once in my clutches, she is my property.
Hanna: Mistress, are you often described as a dominatrix?
(Mme. Nguyen smiles sweetly, complicitly winking an eye. My hostess is comfortably seated in a club chair, facing me. She slowly crosses her legs, her delicate hands caressing the leather armrests. She seems proud of her position.)
Hanna: Mistress, would you describe yourself as a dominatrix?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s a role for which I’m well suited. But I prefer to think of myself as an educator. It more accurately describes my temperament. It’s my true calling. But more than anything else, I want to transform the Being who has entrusted herself to me into an object and an object alone, into a thingamajig that only has value because she is available for the well-being of another.
Think of me as a Mistress who doesn’t necessarily whip her slaves, but binds them in psychological shackles. Domestic service is an ideal arena for a person with my predilections.
Hanna: Do you run a kind of super hotel school that teaches the laws of servitude? (Mme. Nguyen frowns.) What’s wrong?
Mme. Nguyen: Mistress!
Hanna: OK…uh…MISTRESS, do you run a kind of super hotel school that teaches the laws of servitude?
Mme. Nguyen: (She smiles briefly.) In a manner of speaking, but one with only one or two hand picked students.
Incidentally, did you know that some Mistresses like to show off their domestic knowledge to their maids? I can hardly keep from giggling when I see Mistresses performing menial tasks In front of their maids to “demonstrate” their superior housekeeping skills.
By the way, I suggest you drop the attitude. There’s no need to shout out MISTRESS!
Hanna: Sorry, Mistress. You must have some criteria for selecting those you train. What are they?
Mme. Nguyen: They are quite simple.
Like any employer looking to hire some staff, a résumé suffices. Of course, I like to see references, which are a plus. I double check the references, and if they turn out to be phony, the résumé goes straight into the round file.
Here is the procedure I’ve followed since the beginning for identifying potential candidates: I place a classified ad in “le Figaro” under the heading “domestics.” The ad asks the applicant to cut it out and attach it to a handwritten letter. This is a very simple instruction that I repeat each time, but I always receive tons of letters without the clipping. I don’t ask for a list of their service jobs or even a description of their S/m or D/s fantasies. These letters join the others in the round file.
Like any employer, I look for a well written application that describes the motivations and expectations of my future protégés. An explanation of why she wishes to become a domestic is a plus. I need to understand her motivation if I’m to successfully train her as a domestic object.
What I do next is completely subjective, but I feel strongly about it. I decrypt the unconscious thoughts hidden in her handwriting. I do this with a friend that’s a graphologist. The process Is truly fascinating and informative as well as accurate. It describes character traits perfectly. So there’s little chance of being misled. We can spot the phonies who have submitted a bogus résumé.
In fact, as you can see, I don’t do anything different from what the human resources department of a large corporation does.
Hanna: What’s the first interview like, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s always at the same place: On the barge of a friend. I never meet more than two or three slaves at a time. Never more, mainly because I have other things to do.
The meetings are spread throughout the month at a time that suits me.
The appointment is done at a specific time. I have everyone synchronize their watches so that there are no disputes. I’m very strict: a minute late and they’re fired. I don’t wait. This is a wise policy, given the number of no shows. Fortunately, at the first meeting, one can almost always tell if the domestic object is a natural slave or not.
To begin the conditioning of the candidate, I have her perform a simple test, nothing particularly tricky. I simply ask her to serve me a glass of water. It’s stupid, isn’t it. A glass of water and yet? Imagine a clumsy, trembling klutz. I have seen it all: Spilt water, and, unbelievable as it may sound, a mirror broken as they pass by.
The candidate is no longer playacting. She has had her first taste of servitude and introduction to submission as a way of life. The glass of water speaks volumes about the deepest motivations of the slave.
Then comes the catastrophe for the slaves: I winnow the herd.
If I don’t want her, if she doesn’t interest me, I let her go. I’m not here to fulfill her fantasies as she might think. I’m not a “professional” Mistress. All I’m interested in is using her for my pleasure. Let me repeat it: FOR MY PLEASURE AND MY PLEASURE ALONE. I couldn’t care less about her dreams of submission.
I waste no time in telling her if she doesn’t interest me. Slavery is a job like any other at which one is obliged to work. What motivates them? That is the question.
Hanna: Mistress, what happens once they pass the interview?
The happy candidate is sent to a temporary employment agency specializing in janitorial staff, and managed by a couple of friends. There, my future domestic registers as a cleaning lady.
Hanna: I don’t understand, Mistress. Why do you have her do that?
Mme. Nguyen: There are two reasons.
First, she’s now on record as being a “professional” cleaning lady. This important because it immediately lessens her status in the eyes of others.
The sooner her social circle learns her secret, the sooner she adopts the psychology and behavior of a maid. Basically, I create a mental straightjacket that gently forces her to behave as I desire.
Also, using a temp agency allows me to cover my ass and avoid criminal prosecution for practicing “domestic slavery,” a not inconsiderable advantage.
The second reason is a secret that I’ll tell you about later.
Once the formalities are concluded, I let her stew in her own juices for a week or two, for fun, for psychological reasons, to let her ponder the prospect of her servitude. I ask her to leave a message on my answering machine every day at a specific time. The idea for doing this was suggested by a friend. I let her talk without answering, without saying anything, without even speaking about it later. It’s interesting to observe the changes in the intonation of her voice, her pauses, and even her questions. There is a gradual change in the slave’s voice as the day of reckoning approaches.
If she forgets to call, I automatically cross her off my list.
When the messages are interesting, as in the case of my current maid, I ask her to email me about what she thinks about her upcoming servitude. The replies are often interesting. I’m definitely going to try this again with my next slave. It’s quite instructive. I’ll put these emails in her servant’s notebook.
At the same time, I compile a dossier on them. It’s very important to have a potential slave completely fill out a questionnaire for the use of their MIstresses, including phone numbers, email addresses, where she works, her position in society, the names of her co-workers, everything related to her intimate experiences, her sexual preferences, her marital status, her children, her exes, her sexual orientation. This allows me to understand her strengths, her weaknesses, her hobbies, her fantasies. I also ask her for her clothing sizes and a complete description of her wardrobe. (Mme. Nguyen eyes Hanna’s outfit.)
Hanna: Why do you need a description of her wardrobe, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: It’s simple: I’m a girl. I never tire of new clothes. If I’m the same size as my maid, then I can wear her clothes. It’s a perk of being a Mistress. Her suits, her dresses, her shoes, her jeans, her sweaters, her leather jackets, her trench coats, all of these are mine by right. It’s one of the conditions that I impose at the get-go.
I love the look on my maid’s face when I wear her favorite clothes. I see admiration, and I’m proud. Wouldn’t you admire the outfit you’re wearing right now if you were humbly standing in front of me In a maid’s uniform, and I was wearing your suit instead of you? It’s a lovely outfit, Hanna. (Hanna has an expression if disbelief on her face.)
One shouldn’t feel like they’re exploiting their maid. You’d be surprised how willing she is to share her wardrobe with me. One shouldn’t deny oneself this pleasure, but rather savor it. I always ask my maid to inform me of all her clothing purchases. If it’s something I like, I commandeer it for myself. If you were my maid, I’d definitely commandeer the outfit you’re wearing right now. It’s much too fine for a mere maid. It’s much too fine for a woman like you that aspires to be a maid.
Hanna: I don’t aspire to be a maid.
Mme. Nguyen: I don’t aspire to be a maid, MISTRESS.
(Hanna pauses for a moment, apparently to suppress her irritation at the suggestion that she aspires to be Mme. Nguyen’s maid.)
Hanna: OK…Mistress…how long do you wait before taking actual possession of the slave?
Mme. Nguyen: Four to five…perhaps six weeks. That may seem like a long time to a neophyte, but it’s nothing. It’s necessary to take a maximum of precautions, both for the sake of the Mistress as well as the slave. To repeat, assuming I haven’t already said so, this isn’t a one-shot D/s scene, but rather a long-term commitment that will publically transform the life of the slave.
The final employment contract will be signed in my home in the presence of two witnesses.
Hanna: Two Witnesses, Mistress? like a Marriage?
Mme. Nguyen: (Mme. Nguyen laughs as she straightens up in her black leather chair, crosses her legs again, and places her hands on her knees with infinite grace.)
Basically, you’re not far off the mark. It is sort of like a marriage.
The slave’s entry into her new life is similar. Just like a marriage, there’s a short, official ceremony. She’s required to wear a plain black suit and white blouse. She must appear at her best. The formality of the occasion adds force to the moment when she puts her signature on the dotted line. It drives home the importance of the act.
Each side has a representative. The slave chooses whomever she wants, but she must provide a number at which her witness can be reached during her training. I select my witness from two or three acquaintances, one of whom happens to be an emancipated slave.
Once the contract is signed, I have a new domestic to train. And I immediately put her to work. To celebrate her signature, I ask my new maid to serve us champagne.
Hanna: Mistress, how well does the slave perform her first duty?
Mme. Nguyen: Not very, but I’m gentle with her at first.
However, she is in my service to learn. As I’ve said, it’s a job: Menial labor performed in servitude. You won’t hear me speak of being patient with her. That Is not a word used by a Mistress.
Also, it’s out of the question to be friends with one’s maid. The contract she signed is specific and irrevocable. In my eyes, this woman is a domestic object in my house. And It’s necessary to immediately impose a pecking order.
Corporal discipline is not necessarily needed. One’s voice suffices, especially when accompanied with the subtle disdain that every Mistress must immediately cultivate, together with a pinch of contempt. For example, I might tell my maid, “My God, Hanna, to be reduced to licking my boots for pleasure.” (Hanna involuntarily looks at Mme. Nguyen’s boots.)
I don’t hesitate turn the clock back an hour or two when necessary. It’s good for everyone.
There’s a trick I like to play as soon as she lays down the pen after signing her name, a trick that will break the submissive, a kind of psychological cold shower.
My routine never varies. After she’s done serving champagne, I send her to the kitchen, where three day’s worth of dirty dishes await her. This is one of my guilty pleasures, one which I confess that I love. It’s sort of like hazing at school. It goes without saying that the dishes must be done flawlessly. I also insist that she keep her formal clothes on with no smock, no apron, no rubber gloves, no nothing. I won’t tolerate any stains or damp spots on her clothes, which means she has to use her fingertips to do the dishes, which of course is completely impractical. Another variation on the same theme is to forbid the use of hot water. The slightest stain or damp spot on her clothing earns her several extra hours of servitude. The point of the exercise is for her to learn from her mistakes, not to have her serve as a scullion or end up looking like a Portuguese maid.
While she’s busy in the kitchen, I have a leisurely conversation with her witness to get a different viewpoint and a few more details about my new maid. It’s very important to get someone else’s opinions.
In the case of my current maid, her witness was a man who worked in the burn ward of a hospital. He told me that she has wanted to be a domestic for at least ten years. D/s wasn’t his thing, but he spoke about it very intelligently. His words shed light on the psychological preoccupations of my new maid.
These conversations are often enlightening.
Hanna: What happens next, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: The witnesses remain no more than an hour.
The maid is not informed of the departure of her witness. Her life now belongs to me and not to her. In contrast, my time is all mine. This means I can read and amuse myself while she is stuck with the dishes.
Anyway, my new servant must be tested. I sneak in to the kitchen after about half an hour without letting her see me. I then surprise her while she’s focused on her task, carefully keeping her clothes clean. Her startle response causes her to plunge her hands into the dishwater, splashing water on her jacket and skirt. My domestic slave has just earned an extra 25 hours of servitude for losing her composure.
This is her first lesson in slavery.
For me, a domestic is a being who must not show any emotion in the presence of her Mistress. It must not manifest itself anywhere in my home. Consequently, it’s as if she isn’t present. She must emulate a vacuum cleaner stored in a closet. I very serious on this point.
Next, she visits my duplex where I give her instructions on her housekeeping duties. I show her where she’ll change her clothes: Usually the linen closet off the kitchen. The fetishism of servants is well known, so she will be disappointed to learn that she won’t be wearing a classic maid’s uniform. She’ll have to settle for a cleaning lady’s smock, my uniform for neophyte maids.
Hanna, imagine you had to wear cleaning lady’s garb instead of an elegant lady’s maid uniform. Wouldn’t you be disappointed? (Hanna looks annoyed.)
Then my new maid will be introduced to an important person: The concierge for my building. The latter controls the keys, at least at first, and the domestic object will have to deal with this person if I’m out and about.
Hanna: I suppose this arrangement prevents nasty surprises, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: We do not have a simple employer/employee relationship. The expectations of each party are different. In the weeks and months to come, the Mistress will gradually introduce her domestic to the duties that will help shape her new life.
Here’s an important point: The slave must be confident that the Mistress will properly train her. Because that’s why she submits herself to her Mistress’s tender mercies.
To facilitate training, there are two notebooks. The first is the “Task List” that enumerates and describes the servant’s tasks. The maid must learn it by heart for the sake of efficiency. The second is the “Servant’s Notebook,” a dossier that lists the total number of hours she owes me, her registration number with the temp agency, the slave’s training progress, notes about what can be improved, as well as potential punishments, which can be either physical or psychological. The notebook is updated weekly. Some punishments can converted into additional hours of service, hours that are added to the hours that the slave already owes me.
Hanna: Could you discuss the punishment hours in a little more detail?
Mme. Nguyen: You forgot to address me as “Mistress.”
Hanna: (She looks annoyed.) Sorry, Mistress. Could you discuss the punishment hours in a little more detail?
Mme. Nguyen: The contract with the maid typically stipulates that she owes me 300 hours of service, by no means a large number. It’s in the same ballpark as an internship. By signing the contract, the candidate unambiguously agrees to serve me as a maid together with all the conditions that accompany it, such as a baseline of 12 hours of service each week, at least initially. Every week, I subtract the hours she has served from the total hours she owes me. However, as I said before, she can receive additional hours for a thousand and one reasons. Often, at the beginning of her service, the additional hours are because of carelessness. Adding additional hours as punishment is completely at my discretion and my discretion alone. The slave has no say-so in this. She has no choice but accept it.
Consider my earlier example of a slave who received an additional 25 hours at the beginning of her service, a common occurrence. This bumped up the total hours she owed to 325. As a consequence, I deducted the total hours she served that week from 325 instead of 300.
Another example is your failure to address me as “Mistress,” a little while ago. If you were my maid, you’d receive 10 penalty hours for each breach of that protocol.
Hanna: Mistress, isn’t 10 hours a bit excessive?
Mme. Nguyen: Not at all. It’s actually a relatively light punishment. The slave must learn to respect her mistress, and a penalty of 10 hours is enough to be an effective pedagogical tool. She’ll quickly figure out that if she doesn’t show me proper respect, then she’ll never be emancipated. In addition, the constant repetition of “Mistress” helps transform the candidate from someone who thinks and acts independently into someone who can only think and act like a servant, into someone who cannot be anything else than a domestic slave.
Who knows, Hanna, by calling me Mistress constantly, you may end up begging me to be my slave.
(Hanna looks uncomfortable.)
Hanna: Mistress, could you give me some other examples of breaches of etiquette that merit additional punishment hours?
Mme. Nguyen: I observe her general behavior, whether she’s wearing the appropriate uniform for the time of day, the cleanliness of her uniform, her posture when receiving an order. I also check the general cleanliness of the house and the entryway, how well made the beds are, how carefully she carries out my orders, the cleanliness of the table service, and so forth.
White gloves that aren’t spotless cost 20 extra hours. The same for an improperly made bed. If for some reason the slave is AWOL, then—and I’m not kidding—I simply double the original number of hours she owes me on top of which I add punishment the slave doesn’t know about. The second time this happens, I fire her.
Everything about domestic service is punishable. The Mistress must be completely satisfied with the performance of the slave. It’s for this reason that I like to have my maid take formal training courses.
Hanna: Mistress, is the training in addition to the hours of service she owes?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course.
Hanna: Mistress, could you say a bit more about training?
Mme. Nguyen: Before answering your question, there is a point I need to clarify.
The purchase of a servant’s outfit, the uniforms, is a major expense. These uniforms will be the only clothing that I will tolerate. A maid’s uniform projects an image that symbolizes servitude. I insist on it for a reason, a simple reason: Wearing a uniform means that the servant accepts her servitude. Also, in the eyes of others, you are what you wear, that is to say, a maid in her case, and therefore she must behave as her uniform dictates.
Hanna: Uniforms are expensive, Mistress. Is buying them my responsibility…I mean the maid’s responsibility? (Mme. Nguyen smiles.)
Mme. Nguyen: If you were my maid, dear, as you’ve just suggested, and I were to buy your uniforms for you, then you would have to reimburse me with extra hours of work that would be added to the total you owed me. In fact, since you told me on the phone that you’re a trust fund baby, I would insist on buying your uniforms. I would also insist that you repay your debt to me by scrubbing my floors rather than reimbursing me with money from your trust fund. It would be much more fun for me to watch you sweat away than to count your money, and it would teach you that in my service, you’re no better off or superior to a poor girl. Plus it would be a valuable lesson in submission.
I’ll say more about uniforms later.
But let’s return to the subject of training. I might decide that my maid needs some specific training on—say—welcoming guests, because I determine that the servant is not ready to properly handle a soirée I’ve planned. The time spent in training does not count toward the maid’s total hours of service because it is done to support her job. And I don’t hesitate to intervene when I see that my maid needs additional training.
My current maid needed some training. This woman didn’t know how to use a vacuum cleaner, perhaps or even certainly, because she has a housekeeper at home. But here, she’s my maid, and, in spite of her good intentions, it’s clear that housework was not in her skill set. So I had to spent my own time to train her.
To show one’s maid that her Mistress knows to vacuum better than her was rather amusing.
Besides not knowing how to vacuum, she also didn’t how to dust. To teach her how to accomplish what I expected of her took two extra hours of training each week for a month. I did my best to train the slave as efficiently as possible, but it was lost time for me. For that reason, the time spent in training did not count toward the hours of service she owed me.
Hanna: What is the ultimate goal of your training, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: My objective is clear and unambiguous: My maid must become a domestic “worm,” whose existence can be best described as the same as that of an obedience machine, and whose greatest desire is to become a full-time maid-of-all-work by quitting her job to experience servitude 24/7.
I have some juicy examples of the fall into servitude. For example, Fabienne who became the chauffeur of her secretary. It’s often a desire for social regression that leads to domestic servitude.
Hanna: Does your domestic object sometimes volunteer to serve extra hours, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: (Mme. Nguyen’s smile tells us that she feels at ease. This question amuses her. She doesn’t seem to have expected it.) So you want to speak about gifts?
One of my friends joked that I should put a clause in my contracts that requires my slaves to give me an occasional gift of extra hours. I did this first as a trial balloon to see how my maids reacted. As a matter of fact, I added a clause in my contract that requires them to give me extra hours of service for my birthday, my name day, New Year’s Day, even Christmas. It was interesting to see hour many extra hours I’m worth as a Mistress. It’s sort of a return on experience.
I was agreeably surprised at the result. It turns out that I’m not too bad and that the slave has great expectations and must not be disappointed in her training. On the other hand, I must never show my satisfaction.
Giving me extra hours of service is SOP for a slave. It is the only way she has to show affection.
(Mme. Nguyen burst out laughing, the soft, relaxed laugh of a woman et ease in her skin.)
Hanna: Mistress, you seem to have a very well thought out process, almost like accounting.
Mme. Nguyen: I never studied accounting, but I hate unpleasant surprises. That’s why I keep a servant’s notebook: to keep track of the slave’s contract and related documents, so there’s no backing out. I don’t force anybody to sign the contract, but once it’s signed, one honors it. If not, I won’t hesitate to end our relationship. At every stage of my maid’s training, our relationship can be terminated, and back she goes to whence she came.
This isn’t some great innovation. It’s is what all the top tier universities do. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
Hanna: Mistress, is there anything out of the ordinary that you do to train your domestic objects?
Mme. Nguyen: I believe that once the SOP is in place, it is necessary to be patient. For a simple reason: My domestic object must align herself perfectly with my expectations, which are not necessarily the same as the submissive’s. That’s the reason for the preliminary interview.
I’m not the kind of person who rushes things. But I love to set traps. I slip on a white glove, out of the blue, to see how clean the top of an armoire is. I recheck the windowpanes two or three times. I insist that my shoes are polished top and bottom so that the soles as well as the uppers shine. Pressure is important and must be increased over time. Of course, this is no big secret. The slave must become accustomed to this way of life. And she will ask for more. It is up to you, Mistresses, to rule as you see fit. You must dot your i’s and cross your t’s to make it perfectly clear what you mean.
This is also why there is an task list that details everything expected of her.
Sometimes the slave suggests ideas, usually fantasies, but I rarely act on them .
In any event, the submissive must humbly accept the rejection of her idea. I’ve never seen a Mistress or Master who caters to the fantasies of their submissive. At least not in my house.
Hanna: What happens once the contract is signed, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Well…I send my future maid home after her first day of work, her first disastrous day of work.
(Mme. Nguyen laughs.)
More seriously, she has to learn to stew in her own juices. Frustration is a good school for submission. She must await an order from me to report back to my home. The wait is conducive to servitude. While she is waiting, I expect her to study the task list. When she is summoned back to my presence, I test her to see how well she’s mastered the material.
Only when she has mastered the task list will she truly enter my service and be provided with a weekly calender that shows her hours of service.
She must then adapt her life to my desires.
Of course, I don’t expect her to be at the top of her game immediately—that would be silly. Especially if she doesn’t have any experience. But I do like to work with novices; they are much easier to train.
It takes time to psychologically condition a slave’s mind. The servant will reveal if the conditioning has taken hold by how well she obeys my orders. I correct her behavior using a process similar to that used at a hotel school that involves monitoring a combination of her language, her comportment, how she wears her uniform, how she presents herself, but also, and above all, her ability to remain in the background, never getting in my way.
But there is a breed of domestics that I can’t stand: Those who are ostentatious about their servility.
You wouldn’t be obnoxious if you were my maid, would you, Hanna?
(Hanna declines to answer.)
She must get into the habit of doing her job. Thinking like a servant is all I ask, forgetting about everything concerned with her civilian life. I believe that the most complex aspect of her education is getting her to admit to herself that she is nothing but a domestic object, that her only concern is satisfying the needs of her Mistress, for example, waiting in the kitchen for three hours without anyone noticing her presence. In short, learning to be useful when needed. She is nothing but a menial, and I don’t care a whit about her outside job. When one is done sweeping the floor, one puts the broom in the broom closet, closes the door, and forgets about it. It’s the same with a domestic: She’s no more memorable than a mop.
There’s one point I hammer home, no matter how exalted her outside job may be: In my house she’s only a maid. I spell it out clearly: I have no interest in her person, so she shouldn’t expect any sympathy or kindness from me. At best, I show her indifference.
At some point during a maid’s training, I subject her to an ordeal, an ordeal that weakens her willpower. Or strengthens it, depending on the servant.
Some of my maids can’t cope with the ordeal, end up crying like babies, and leave my service.
Hanna: What exactly is this ordeal, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Nothing less than a confrontation, a confrontation with herself under the gaze of others observing her doing her new job, viewing the spectacle of a maid kowtowing in front of her superiors. How will these third parties perceive her? It’s simple to play the maid in private in front of a mirror. But when one is being observed by others and must perform one’s duty as a domestic, a simple thing like answering the ring of a doorbell becomes a humiliating experience, a sight that changes the expression of the observers, and more than one slave has cracked under their gaze.
One can then ask a simple, straightforward question: Is the servant comfortable with her new life? Psychologists say that this is the key issue: Has her psychological and social level reset so that her reality now matches her fantasy.
(In the silence, Mme. Nguyen rings a small bell. Mme. Nguyen and Hanna exchange knowing smiles for a moment. A women, about 40 years old, appears, wearing a blue-gray chambermaid’s uniform. She makes a barely visible, quick curtesy before standing at attention in front of her Mistress. Mme. Nguyen makes a quick adjustment to her white apron.)
“Bring us two flutes of champagne.”
(Another quick curtsey, and the slave returns back to whence she came.)
She’s the type I like. I call her “Thirty-Seven.” She’s 43 years old and was an executive secretary.
Hanna: Was an executive secretary? And the number thirty seven? Would you please explain, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Each of my domestic objects answers to the number on her dossier. It’s simpler for everybody, and I don’t have to rack my brain trying to remember her name.
Thirty-Seven has been with me a little less than a year. As of today, she owes me 22 hours of servitude per week and two complete weekends per month. Right now, for the time being, I don’t need another slave. But I might make an exception in your case. (Hanna shoots Mme. Nguyen a nasty look.)…Just kidding.
When I started training her, she owed me 12 hours and no weekends. As you can see, “progress” has been made. You don’t have to believe it, but servitude is a way of life to which a maid becomes attached . A sort of drug like the adrenaline that athletes secrete during competition.
If a servant leaves my service in a huff, ignoring her contract, but finds that she misses servitude, she’ll come back and beg to serve again. That’s what happened with Thirty-Seven. She has left and returned several times. As I say, it happens from time to time; one can’t rush things. But returning to her old life seemed too difficult, too complicated. Which I understand. At 43, She simply couldn’t return to her old life.
However, each time she left, she kept returning until she felt comfortable being a maid and doing her job. She finally learned to control her emotions. This is when her training could really begin. I’m patient. Has anyone ever seen a tamer train an animal with a snap of the finger?
In your case, Hanna, I’m sure that if you were to become my maid, you would leave and return several times just like Thirty-Seven. The first time you returned, I’d add 50 hours of service to whatever you owed me when you left, the second time, it would be 100 hours, the third time, 150, and so forth. But in the end, you’d stay. You’re obviously fascinated by the maid lifestyle but are conflicted about making the jump. Why else would you be here interviewing me? By the way, if you were to become my maid, I’d call you “Thirty-Eight.”
Hanna: I can assure you, Mme. Nguyen, that I’ll never ask to become your maid.
Mme. Nguyen: I bet that you WILL ask and that it will happen before the end of this interview. How about it? If I lose, I’ll have Thirty-Seven serve as your maid-of-all-work for 50 hours. If you lose by asking to become my maid, you’ll owe me 100 hours of service in addition to the standard 300 hours of service.
Hanna: Wait a second! If I lose, it costs me 100 hours, but if you lose, it only costs you 50 hours. That doesn’t seem fair.
Mme. Nguyen: The basic wager is for 50 hours. But haven’t you noticed that you didn’t address me as “Mistress” just now? And that you missed doing it several times earlier? To disrespect me multiple times in a single day costs 50 penalty hours. Thus, if you lose, you’ll owe me the basic wager of 50 hours plus the 50 penalty hours for a total of 100 hours
Hanna: (Hanna looks like she’s about to get on her high horse but begins to calm down.) I don’t see how I can possibly lose, so it’s a bet…Mistress.
(Mme. Nguyen smiles the smile of someone supremely confident of winning.)
Let’s get back to the interview, Mistress. (Hanna glances at her notes.) Um…is it easy for Thirty-Seven to lead two lives?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course this can pose some problems.
I’ll let Thirty-Seven explain it to you. Her problems are not my problems, and I refuse to get involved personally. At the same time, I recognize the trouble they might cause. It’s the responsibility of my domestic slave to manage any conflict between its “civilian” and its domestic life. If the domestic life of the slave takes priority over her other life, that’s a dilemma. It’s necessary for her to choose, to abandon one or the other.
At any rate, this is what awaits my domestics: There is a moment when she has to burn her bridges, when she cannot go back.
I ignore my slave’s difficulties. I’m not her personal assistant, so her problems have no meaning for me. I don’t take them into account. It’s important to remember that we are in an adult relationship, that we are no longer children. She is free to accept or reject this type of life. But if she accepts it, it’s with full knowledge of the problems that it may create.
Everything is clearly defined. I’m not a slave trader. Submission, that is to say, a lack of autonomy, is a way of life with its own set of rules. When one approaches me, it’s to experience this form of life, not to gather mushrooms.
Explain to me why I should bother with a slave who makes a quick appearance and then disappears into her hidey-hole under a bogus pretext. They make me puke. On the other hand, those who remain are worthy of my attention. They have the fire in the belly that it takes to be a slave.
It would be stupid and hypocritical of me to ignore it.
Thirty-Seven has the courage to accept her servitude. Sometimes that’s worth all the freedoms in the world. Because, strange as it may seem, servitude is a form of freedom.
Do you have the courage to accept servitude, Thirty-Eight?
(Hanna remains silent.)
On the other hand, it seems important to me to discourage Mistresses from taking domestic slaves into their service who cannot serve more than 10 hours per week. There’s no point to it. Neither for the Mistresses, who cannot offload all the tasks that need doing onto the servant, nor for the domestic objects, who are unable to spend enough time to master their job. It’s a waste of time for everyone concerned. Plus everyone becomes frustrated.
Hanna: But what about the ordeal that you spoke of, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Pardon me. Yes, the ordeal.
There comes a time when it’s necessary to check the progress of one’s domestic object. To know where she’s at, and how she is going to react to a new situation. I put her In the spotlight in a position of weakness, a position in which the servant risks losing her composure. As I said earlier, I have seen them break into tears. It ruins the evening for me if she gets angry, trying to deny the obvious, namely, that she’s wearing a maid’s uniform with all that it implies. After all, she is standing there in a white apron. If she tries to deny it, she appears even more ridiculous. I just let it go. It’s unfortunate, but she she to go through this ordeal if I’m to learn if she will accept her new life.
It’s not uncommon for the domestic to break out in tears in the kitchen or the bedroom, but tears are unacceptable when performing her duties. If that happens, as soon as the evening is over, the slave takes all her stuff and disappears from my life.
(There is a knock on the door to the living room.)
Yes!
Thirty-Seven: It is Thirty-Seven, Madame.
(Mme. Nguyen rings the bell to authorize her entry into the room.)
Mme. Nguyen: I generally invite an acquaintance of the slave to a party. It might be a friend, parents, or a co-worker as in the case of Thirty-Seven.
(In silence, the slave, wearing immaculate white gloves, places a silver platter, holding two flutes of fresh champagne, on a Chinese-style table. The maid is about to make a quick curtesy and take her leave.)
Remain here, this concerns you.
(As Mme. Nguyen and Hanna watch, Thirty-Seven moves to the other end of the living room, where she stands at attention, her gloved hands crossed over her white apron. This must be her station when serving a meal. Motionless near the service trolley, she resembles a statue that blends into the shadows of the decor. Mme. Nguyen looks at Thirty-Seven, then flashes Hanna a little smile.)
That’ll soon be you, Thirty-Eight.
(Hanna looks irritated with Mme. Nguyen.)
A maid is a transparent object in the sense that you should be able to see right through her without noticing her. It is necessary to make her understand this during her employment interview. Among all the service occupations of which I am aware, the domestic object is the only one that leaves me totally indifferent. It’s one that disgusts me at times. They don’t exist. One can speak of them in their presence without it affecting their service or devotion. A domestic is like a piece of furniture that has multiple uses.
That might appear simple, but it’s the foundation of my training.
I like to repeat this even—and especially—in their presence. She must constantly sense in my words and action the disdain that I have for her.
It is something I inculcate from the very beginning. To show my repugnance to beings that have no desire to be anything other than a flunky.
She must learn how to not exist in the presence of a MIstress. She must not forget this. She has to suppress her person for the sake of serving another. This doesn’t mean she should do nothing, sitting there like a bump on a log. She must be constantly ready, impeccably attired, available, ready to satisfy.
Hanna: Let’s return to the ordeal, Mistress. Is it a sort of trial by fire?
Mme. Nguyen: One could say that.
For me, it’s very important. It’s how I determine if I’ve been effective, if my training has been done right. (She breaks into a laugh.) But it’s also the future of the domestic. Her behavior will determine if the servant will continue her schooling with me or not.
And besides, I don’t believe that I have to ignore my own pleasure. I like small doses of sadism. A sting from time to time. I like playing mind games a lot. It’s also my job to break my domestic object psychologically, so that I can “reassemble” her as I see fit.
Let me repeat myself, perhaps once too often, but I have nothing to do with my slave’s private life. What’s important to me is their availability. They must be available when you have a need for them. Your domestic object is normally available to you for a certain number of hours per week. She schedules herself in accordance with your wishes. But if she is truly servile, your servant will do you the honor of skipping a reunion, a visit, a meeting with a friend, even her vacation—as in the case of Thirty-Seven—for the pleasure of the Mistress. But never thank your domestic for making herself available. It’s what’s due to the Mistress. It’s an gift that the servant places at your feet. Never forget the the Master or Mistress is untouchable for the slave. The domestic object venerates that which it will never possess.
One last thing. Never confide in your domestic. No matter whom you invite, her job is to perform her duties.
One day I had Thirty-Seven set a table for two. She ordered two vegetarian dinners from a restaurant I frequent. She prepared a grand repast while I corrected the proofs for a book.
Then the doorbell rang.
My guest was on time. I love punctuality. I got up, telling Thirty-Seven to go to the kitchen. I’d ring her if I needed her.
The young woman I met at the door was no more than 30 years old, effervescent, a sort of Wonder Woman attired in a perfectly tailored pearl-gray suit, wearing little round glasses, sporting short hair. This young woman was none other than the assistant of Thirty-Seven in her civilian life.
(Silence)
(Mme. Nguyen turns toward her maid with a self-satisfied smile, the smile of a woman pleased with her work. Then she glances at Hanna before staring again at her domestic. She lifts her flute and sips the champagne before returning the glass.)
You can imagine, dear friend, what happened then. I hadn’t informed my maid of the arrival of her assistant. And the young woman—we are now friends—knew nothing about her boss working as a maid.
(Mme. Nguyen takes another sip. She takes her time. The delightful, whimsical time of those have the power to give orders that cannot be contradicted ever. She languorously sinks deeper into her armchair, once again crossing her legs and finally staring again at her maid. She looks at her from top to bottom, then from bottom to top.)
Hanna: Mistress, what happened when Thirty-Seven of found herself serving her assistant as a maid?
Mme. Nguyen: (Staring at Thirty-Seven) I remember that during the first part of your service, you had knees like jelly, knees that trembled like a leaf. But I also remember that I was rather proud of my training. You kept your place. Your eyes were red from tears, but you managed to hold them back.
I confess that the test was perhaps too difficult. But I wanted to find out how my domestic would react in front of this beautiful young woman, who was also her assistant. When all was said and done, I was agreeably surprised.
I found it encouraging when your assistant began having fun with you, once her surprise was over and she had her fill of mocking your new job. When one has the power of humiliating her superior without fear of reprisal, it’s wonderful. She took great pleasure in knowing that the next day tongues would wag and everyone would know the guilty pleasures of the director’s secretary. When I invited her over, I didn’t realize how significant her presence would be. I believe that she decisively put you in the position of having to choose a new path in life.
Look at you today.
(Mme. Nguyen turns to Hanna as she puts her glass down.)
Once one dons the white apron, you no longer exist in the eyes of others. The effect is dramatic. She becomes less than shit—literally. It is as I said a while ago: The uniform defines the role. And the role for her is servitude. And when one is a domestic slave, one has to accept without complaint every humiliation for the greater good of the Mistresses. Even if there are catastrophes later.
Once her duties were over, Thirty-Seven vomited in the kitchen and cried. The fall of a middle-class woman who knew that this dinner sealed her fate. Her humiliation by her assistant established once and for all that Thirty-Seven’s true calling was that of a maid.
The role of the Mistress is not to worry about the sensibilities of her slave. Especially not in the case of emotional issues. I asked Thirty-Seven to clean the kitchen by using her hands to pick up the vomit. Of course, I was in a foul mood, and told my maid in no uncertain terms that I found it unacceptable to waste food this way and that I expected a good faith effort from her to clean the kitchen.
Hanna: What did you mean by a good faith effort, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: I meant that Thirty-Seven was to lick the floor on all fours in her black chambermaid uniform. After all, here was nothing contagious about her own vomit.
(Silence)
I really enjoyed watching her.
Hanna: What happened to Thirty-Seven next, Mistress?
According to Véronique, her return to the office became part of the company folklore—Véronique Is the young lady’s name.
Tell us the story, Thirty-Seven.
(Standing at attention, perfectly straight, her gloved hands still crossed over her apron, Thirty-Seven begins in carefully enunciated tones.)
Thirty-Seven: Thirty-Seven was summoned by her director, Madame.
(Mme. Nguyen takes an evil pleasure at rubbing it in, to show her absolute power over her domestic. Her voice was both sweet and cutting.)
Mme. Nguyen: Tell us what happened next. Our journalist friend here is curious to learn how things worked out, to learn what might happen to her when she becomes my maid.
(Thirty-Seven looks at Hanna, smiles briefly, then lowers her eyes. It’s amazing to see her immobile in her impeccable uniform. She must have learned that a domestic must never raise her eyes when she speaks. This gesture is part of her job as well as part of her humiliation while she recounts her story.)
Thirty-Seven: Thirty-Seven was interviewed for an hour during which she had to account for her behavior. She tried to make hear boss understand that it was an issue of her private life. But Monsieur le Directeur didn’t see it that way. He told her that when one has a position such as hers, one should not indulge in masochistic fantasies.
Mme. Nguyen: More…more!
Thirty-Seven: Monsieur le Directeur gave Thirty-Seven the choice of remaining and taking leave of Madame OR leaving the head office for a departmental position and remaining in Madame’s employ.
(With a wave of her hand, Mme. Nguyen silences her domestic, having heard enough.)
Mme. Nguyen: I’ll ring for you.
(Gracefully and discreetly, Thirty-Seven fades into the background after a quick curtsey.)
She is a good example of submission that is both psychological and public. Thirty-Seven is not a unique example, as you shall soon find out, Thirty-Eight.
This executive secretary could have lived a middle-class existence, which she once had, by the way. After her “domestication,” she ended up publically shamed and obliged to embrace her original fantasy of being a soubrette. She refused to renounce her servitude and accepted a less prestigious position in her company.
She learned today that her former assistant is now the executive secretary.
Moreover, I’ve invited Véronique to come here and celebrate her promotion. And Thirty-Seven will carry the serving platter, attired in her black chambermaid uniform, under the gaze of her former assistant, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. They are no longer members of the same class. The superior has now become a subordinate unworthy of the attention of the assistant: Such women are, for her, no longer of interest. She will say to all and sundry, “Did you know that this woman who was once an executive secretary is now nothing more than a maid?”
And, yes, a roman slave can have blue blood, but it’s still a slave. It makes no difference.
Hanna: Madame, Thirty-Seven referred to herself in the third person. Instead of saying, “I did such and such, ” she would say, “Thirty-Seven did such and such.” Why is this?
Mme. Nguyen: I make her refer to herself in the third-person to reduce her sense of individuality, implying the diminished importance of her in relation to whomever she is addressing. In other words, it helps establish and reinforce her belief that she is a slave. You’ll become intimately familiar with the benefits of this technique when you become my slave.
(Hanna appears to be becoming quite irritated with Mme. Nguyen’s repeated suggestion that Hanna become her slave.)
Hanna: Mistress, how could you be sure that Thirty-Seven wouldn’t flee the dinner party, wouldn’t break.
Mme. Nguyen: But it’s simple as we shall see.
Let us pose the question: Why is Thirty-Seven still here? What compelled her to lick my boots, to polish my grandmother’s silver service three times because I ordered it? It is because her mind, in spite of her studies, her good education, is that of a maid, a worm. Nothing can change that.
Let’s say that you live alone, playing the role of a soubrette for your private amusement—why not, I’ve done it myself. Let’s say, like Thirty-Seven, you think that your “real” life is that of a domestic. Then you are going to look for a way to realize this life even if it means casting aside the life you have been living. I respect that choice, and I encourage it.
But, It takes time.
Thirty-Seven is 43 years old. How long has she searched, rummaging through S/m or D/s magazines before being able to wear a white apron in the way she wants? It is one thing to chose to play a soubrette in a comedy but another to know that one really is a domestic slave, to accept its rules, its constraints, its punishments. To finally be what one always wanted to be, a servant who comes running at every tinkle of a little bell.
(Mme. Nguyen vigorously rings the little bell)
(The door opens.)
Thirty-Seven: Yes, Madame?
(Mme Nguyen looks at me with a smug smile, then, without even looking at her, gerstures her to leave with a wave of her hand.)
There is the proof, both physical and mental, that one day, Thirty-Seven will present herself—holding a serving platter, wearing the perfectly ironed livery of a chambermaid, white gloves covering her hands—as a full-time working maid in the employ of a Mistress.
That will be the first day in the rest of her true life. It’s only a question of time before she fully commits.
Hanna: How long do you expect that to take?
Mme. Nguyen: It takes time. One must not rush things. I always recalibrate my needs depending on my domestic—Thirty-Seven in this case. I correct her faux pas gently but firmly. She may need to be punished. But a warning to masochists…
Let me repeat: It’s not a question of playing Grand Guignol, of playing the submissive at the theater this evening. It’s only a moron who does that.
In my hands, she will acquire the spirit of a maid, one who plies her trade in public. She will cook or vacuum with a professionalism of the kind sought from a temp agency. Nothing must be left to chance, setting the table, whether in the French or English style, organizing a wardrobe, managing her Mistress’s time, serving and responding to the slightest snap of the Mistress’s fingers.
To repeat it again, it’s not a question of a simple D/s session, even if my role is to play with them, to humiliate them, to break them psychologically. My role is that of an educator. But I do take a lot of pleasure in insulting them. But, above all, it is a question of making them wholeheartedly accept their new life —the life that some of them have always dreamed about without daring to pass through the looking glass—and, as in the case of Thirty-Seven, with no longer any psychological possibility of being of passing back through.
in fact, it’s a second chance for them. They are finally what they have dreamed of being, that is to say, themselves, without any false pretenses.
When you become my maid, Thirty-Eight, you too will experience the ordeal. I’ll make sure that it’s a surprise when it happens. You won’t have clue it’s about to happen to you even though you know the ordeal is coming.
What will it be like? I can only speculate, but let me describe a possible scenario, a scenario based on our earlier phone call. You mentioned that you and your rival Audrey are vying for the attention of the same man, Thomas. This suggests that I should invite Audrey over for lunch and repeat what I did to Thirty-Seven. While you’re in the kitchen, I’ll ring the bell, and you’ll enter the dining room, attired in your black maid’s uniform, a white apron tied about your waist, a maid’s cap on your head, well-polished flats for your footwear, a serving platter held in your white-gloved hands. In contrast, Audrey will be wearing a well-tailored suit, comfortably seated in one of my leather armchairs, chatting with me, complaining about that bitch Hanna who is trying to steal her boyfriend. When you see us talking, you’ll feel the almost unstoppable urge to flee back into the kitchen. But you won’t do that because you know that I’ll award you 100 penalty hours if you do. You’ll have to stand your ground, endure the embarrassment of having your private fantasy revealed to Audrey, listen to her haze you mercilessly while you politely serve her champagne under my watchful eye.
But your ordeal will differ from Thirty-Seven’s. You’re self-employed, so there’s no boss who will demand that you abandon your S/m predilections, no assistant who will gossip about your fantasies of being a maid. So, I’ll have to take a different tack. After you serve refreshments, I’ll have you remain in the room, awaiting further orders, or so I’ll claim. But my real agenda will be to let you overhear my conversation with Audrey. At an appropriate point during our conversation, I’ll make an offhand remark about how wonderful it is to have a maid to do one’s housework. I’ll follow up by asking Audrey if she has a maid to do her housework. I know she doesn’t, because you told me so, but she doesn’t know that I know. She’ll of course answer that she doesn’t. To help her out, I’ll offer your services to do a first rate cleaning job at her place. To sweeten the pot, I’ll insist that Audrey tell me if your services were in any way unsatisfactory. If so, I’ll tell her that I’ll punish you and send you back to do the job again, this time to her satisfaction. Of course, Audrey will jump at the chance to be the Mistress and you, the maid, to find fault with everything you do, to humiliate you, to take revenge against her rival. I’m sure, despite your best efforts, Audrey will find numerous faults with your work.
Audrey will relax by surfing the Web or watching TV, while you, her former rival, slaves away cleaning her toilet. What act could basically illustrate the differences in your statuses better than that?
You told me that Audrey is bisexual, so in addition to housework, she may insist on services of a more intimate nature. Classifying this type of service as “housekeeping” is a stretch, but I won’t complain about it. In any event, I’m confident that she’ll find fault with your oral technique.
It goes without saying that you’ll be punished. I’ll invite Audrey over to witness your discipline. Doubtless she’ll invite Thomas to accompany her. You’ll greet them at the door and show them to their seats. You’ll then walk to a dining chair placed a few feet in front of Audrey and Thomas and bend over the back of the chair. I’ll grab the hem of your uniform and flip it over your back, exposing your naked posterior to my guests. Then the punishment itself will begin. Your ass will dance an obscene dance to the rhythm of my cane. You can imagine what Thomas’s reaction will be. He’ll be sure to find it “stimulating.” For this reason, after your caning, I’ll lock you into a chastity belt to ensure that you can neither offer comfort nor receive it from Thomas.
Thomas will be desperate for relief. Being the gracious host I am, I’ll offer Thomas And Audrey the use of my guest bedroom. There’ll be a “whoosh” as Thomas grabs Audrey and hightails It for the bedroom. While Audrey is providing relief for Thomas, I’ll have you scrub the hall outside the guest bedroom, where you’ll hear expressions of delight of the sort available to Mistresses but not to maids. You’ll have time to ponder the fact that Thomas will not be particularly eager to date a low-status woman wearing a chastity belt. Your rival Audrey will have won the battle for Thomas’s affections.
Of course, this scenario is hypothetical, intended only to give you an idea of what you ordeal might be like. I like surprises, so expect your ordeal to be completely different and unexpected.
(Hanna’s face is flushed, and she appears to be in some sort of trance…times passes…The flush fades from her face.)
Hanna: (Changing the subject) You spoke of punishments, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Corporal and psychological…
The Servant’s Notebook lists the punishments to which Thirty-Seven is subject. They range from a slap to the face to a whipping, and others such as denying her food. I can also incarcerate her in the cellar, make her wear a chastity belt, and so forth. I think There are enough punishments to satisfy the whim of the fussiest Mistress.
The punishments on my list are, it seems to me, more intimate in nature than dramatic.
I’m fairly sure, Thirty-Eight, that the punishments that are good for Thirty-Seven would be good for you. By the way, have you ever been whipped? If not, I could arrange for Thirty-Seven to familiarize you with the cane, to give you 12 strokes, to give a taste of what being a real maid is like. Shall I have Thirty-Seven give you 12 strokes?
Hanna: Absolutely not!
Mme. Nguyen: Tut, tut, Thirty-Eight, you forgot to address me as “Mistress.” That will cost you an extra 6 strokes with the cane. Look, if you want to give your readers a taste of what being one of my maids is like, there’s no better way than experience it yourself. Besides, it doesn’t commit you to becoming my maid. Think of it as research for your article, as an educational experience. After all, they say that a maid’s ass is her seat of learning.
Hanna: But 6 strokes is too many. How about 3?
Mme. Nguyen: You know I don’t negotiate with my maids. A maid must accept the punishment her Mistress mandates. Also, once again, you forgot to address me as “Mistress,” so now it’s 12 extra strokes.
Hanna: (Squirms in her chair for several minutes, probably thinking about Mme. Nguyen’s offer to treat her to a whipping.) Ok, I’ll do it Mistress, not because I want to, but for the benefit of my readers.
(Mme. Nguyen rolls her eyes.)
Mme. Nguyen: As you wish, Thirty-Eight. Beg me, Thirty-Eight. Tell me that you’ll accept being caned by Thirty-Seven, that you want a proper discipline that you won’t forget, that you want the cane laid on as if you really were a maid. Plus, offer me some extra strokes as a gift to show your appreciation for being allowed to interview me. Finally, stand up and curtsey before you begin to beg. Humiliate yourself.
Hanna: (Hesitates before slowly rising from her chair and curtsying.) Mistress, Thirty-Eight deserves to be disciplined for disrespecting you, for resisting your suggestions that she become your maid. She begs you to let Thirty-Seven punish her with a cane. Please don’t let Thirty-Seven administer less than the full 24 strokes that Thirty-Eight has earned. Have her lay on the strokes as if Thirty-Eight is a recalcitrant maid. It would gratify Thirty-Eight if penalty strokes are added if she doesn’t accept her discipline with the graciousness demanded by her Mistress. Thirty-Eight hopes that Mistress will accept a gift of 6 additional strokes, not because Thirty-Eight hopes for mercy, but because Thirty-Eight wishes to express her gratitude for being allowed to interview her Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: You laid it on with trowel, as Shakespeare would say. All in all, not bad, Thirty-Eight. You still have a lot to learn though: You didn’t lower your eyes, but I’ll overlook your faux pas this once. Unfortunately, you can’t possibly expect me to go to all the trouble of punishing you for a gift of 6 measly strokes. Try again.
Hanna: Uh…Mistress, would you accept a gift of 8… (She hesitates for a moment.) I beg you, Mistress, would you please accept a gift of 10 strokes?
Mme. Nguyen: Hint, Thirty-Eight: The number of strokes must be a multiple of 6 and, in this case, more than 6. You have one more chance.
Hanna: (A resigned look on Hanna’s face.) Mistress, Thirty-Eight begs you, implores you, beseeches you, importunes you to accept her humble gift of 12 strokes.
Mme. Nguyen: Why are you offering this gift, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: To thank Mistress for granting me an interview. Plus…never mind, Mistress.
Mme. Nguyen: Plus what, Thirty-Eight? (Lost in thought for a moment) What is the real reason you’re offering this gift, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: (Blushes) Because Thirty-Eight is ashamed to admit that you’re right: She has fantasies of becoming a maid, Mistress. She needs to be punished for failing to have the courage of her convictions. She’s too frightened to become your maid, to experience the humiliation of servitude, but she would like to get a taste of what it’s like.
Mme. Nguyen: (Thinks for a while.) You have what it takes to be a maid, Thirty-Eight. I understand your fears. Perhaps I can help you overcome them, help you screw your courage to the sticking place.
(Mme. Nguyen picks up the bell and delicately shakes it. The door opens.)
Thirty-Seven: Yes, Madame?
Mme. Nguyen: Take Thirty-Eight into the kitchen and apply 36 stripes to her ass with a cane. In the nude. Treat her as if she’s one of my maids.
Hanna: In the nude!
(Thirty-Seven smiles a wicked smile and grabs Hanna, dragging her into the kitchen.)
Mme. Nguyen: (To herself.) There’s no reason to record her screams. (Mme. Nguyen leans over and switches off the voice recorder.. Time passes…Mme. Nguyen switches the recorder back on. She’s sitting in her leather armchair wearing Hanna’s outfit. Hanna enters the living room, rubbing her ass, tears streaming down her face, wearing a cleaning lady’s smock, feet shod in rubber clogs, the jiggling of her chest revealing that she’s Not wearing a bra and suggesting that she might not be wearing any panties either.)
How do you like my new outfit, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: (She clearly cannot believe her eyes, but there has been a shift in her demeanor. She seems to have a newfound respect and admiration for Mme. Nguyen. She curtsies.) Uh…It’s stunning, Mistress, it suits you well.
Mme. Nguyen: Thirty-Eight, the top button of your uniform is open. That would be 25 penalty hours if you were my maid. A closed top button looks more professional. “Décolletage” does not become a maid. Plus, during hot weather it helps make the uniform more uncomfortable to wear: It becomes hot and sticky, constantly reminding the slave of her status. Button it now.
(Hanna buttons the button.)
I’m sure you’re wondering when you’ll get your outfit back. If you were my maid, you wouldn’t ever be getting it back. I would commandeer it. But trust me; you really don’t want it back right now. I neglected to inform you that Thirty-Seven expects to get paid for going to the trouble of whipping you. But she doesn’t want money for her services: She wants you to do one of her chores this afternoon after the interview, in particular, scrubbing the floors. After she determines that the job you did is up to my exacting standards, and I do mean exacting, you’ll get your clothes back. Think of it as some more maid experience that you can describe to your readers.
(Hanna appears to be too subdued from her recent experiences to protest.)
I suspect that you probably don’t want to sit down right now. Besides, I would never let a woman wearing a cleaning lady’s smock sit in one of my leather chairs. What would the neighbors think? It’s a dilemma. So here’s what I propose: Pretend you’re my maid and have been summoned into my presence—by the way, my maids are not permitted to rub their posteriors in my presence. You’ll stand at attention like Thirty-Seven. Here’s your notebook and pen so we can continue the interview. When you’re not actively using them, hold them in both hands in front of your stomach like Thirty-Seven. Give me a curtsey.
(Hanna attempts a curtsey.)
Lower your eyes, Thirty-Eight. Show some respect.
(Hanna obediently lowers her eyes.)
We’re going to have to work on your curtsey, but we can worry about that later. While you were otherwise occupied, I reviewed the interview on your voice recorder. This suggested some thoughts I’d like to restart the interview with…If you have no objections, here goes.
(Hanna makes no objections.)
(Mme. Nguyen clears her throat.) Mine is an educational role: I mold the mind of my domestic object so that she meets my expectations as nearly as possible, so that my servant understands my deepest beliefs, and more importantly, it seems to me, so that she comes to think, to live, to reflect like a domestic and no longer like someone of higher status. Thirty-Seven has become a mentally inferior being. She has come to terms with her condition, and I don’t think I’m mistaken in saying that my maid will become a marketable domestic. She will leave behind the trappings of a lower middle class woman for that of a chambermaid.
Hanna: Mistress, has Thirty-Seven really abandoned everything to be a domestic?
Mme. Nguyen: Well, for all practical purposes, she’s already done it. It’s true she has a life outside of the hours she works for me, but, if push comes to shove, she’ll abandon her outside life before she abandons her life as a servant.
When someday she decides to don the apron 24/7, it will simply mean that she has stopped worrying about what people think. One could call it freedom, to finally be oneself.
Hanna: Mistress, what happens when Thirty-Seven has worked all the hours she owes you?
Mme. Nguyen: I’ll organize a sale. A friend is interested.
Or I may just keep her. I haven’t made up my mind. By the way, it’s always the same dilemma. What do you do when a domestic works all the hours she owes? I believe that it’s like a period of mourning: One must get rid of everything that recalls the dearly departed. It’s the best thing to do.
I’d like to take this opportunity to tell the submissives reading this article that servitude is the art of dependence. Submissives only exist for the Other, without expecting anything in return, neither tenderness nor financial compensation. By the way, this is what makes them different from household staff, who have the right to complain about their work conditions. But a submissive’s life only has meaning if her personality has been shaped using specific mental conditioning techniques.
Hanna: You’ll sell her, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course. Thirty-Seven is a slave. She can’t stop being a maid just because she has served all the hours she owes me. Servitude is now in her blood. She needs someone to serve. I can either renegotiate my agreement with Thirty-Seven, have her agree to serve more hours, or arrange for her to serve another Mistress by holding a “sale.” The proceeds of the sale would actually be my commission, paid by her new Master or Mistress, for finding her a new position.
(Mme. Nguyen rings the little bell. She runs her outstretched hands over her heavy satin qipao to smooth it out. She gets up when Thirty-Seven opens the door. She silently walks over to Thirty-Seven and adjusts a stray lock of hair dangling from the slave’s white cap. A sweet gesture.)
What were you doing?
Thirty-Seven: Ironing Madame’s smoking jacket.
(Mme. Nguyen turns toward Hanna.)
Mme. Nguyen: I’ve been invited to the opera. You’ll probably be scrubbing floors while I enjoy myself, Thirty-Eight.
(Mme. Nguyen gently turns Thirty-Seven’s face toward me as the servant lowers her eyes.)
The sale will have several aspects, such as clothing. Thirty-Seven will wear a simple but elegant gray suit. The skirt won’t be so tight that it’s hard to remove should the buyer request an intimate inspection. In addition, the condition of the slave will be checked.
(Without so much as a say-so, Mme. Nguyen examines the inside of one of Thirty-Seven’s ears. The slave doesn’t resist. She then orders Thirty-Seven to open her mouth wide, examines her teeth, and checks for bad breath.)
Hygiene is an important property of the object to be sold. The slave must take a shower everyday and brush her teeth before serving my meals. It’s not simply because Thirty-Seven acts as a maid-of-all-work—which means she has bad breath, smells of BO, and has dirty fingernails—but because we want Thirty-Seven to be healthy. One doesn’t have to be an expert to look into the whites of her eyes to see that she’s not sick.
(She checks the whites of each eye of her servant.)
There’ll be some mandatory precautions taken such as a visit to a doctor for a complete checkup, including an HIV test.
(Mme. Nguyen examines Thirty-Seven’s hair in a very professional manner.)
No one wants a maid who has dandruff. It’s completely unacceptable. I can’t stand dandruff on a black uniform.
(As Hanna watches, Mme. Nguyen weighs Thirty-Seven’s breasts with her hands.)
She’s no longer daddy’s little princess.
(Mme. Nguyen silently runs her hand over her maid’s ass in a way that suggests ownership. With a swoop of her hand, she lifts the hem of the uniform, revealing the slave’s crotch.)
(Hanna’s face has an expression of astonishment.)
Hanna: You make her wear a chastity belt, Mistress?
(Mme. Nguyen smiles as she drops the hem of the uniform.)
Mme. Nguyen: She’s being punished: I caught her diddling herself. A maid’s job is to work, not masturbate. You don’t diddle, do you, Thirty-Eight?
(Thirty-Seven blushes and lowers her eyes. Mme. Nguyen points at the empty champagne flutes on the table.)
Clear the table.
(Leaving her slave to do her job, Mme. Nguyen walks out to the terrace of her apartment and motions Hanna to follow. Hanna is now standing outside in a cleaning lady’s uniform in full view of passersby. Hanna looks mortified.)
The other day, a Mistress friend of mine asked why Thirty-Seven doesn’t wear a collar. It’s a good question. So why doesn’t Thirty-Seven wear a slave’s collar? But she does: It’s her uniform and her white apron.
Hanna: A collar and an apron are the same thing, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Of course.
Believe me, when Thirty-Seven’s assistant saw her wearing a servant’s uniform, her boss was nothing more than a maid in her mind. It’s an incredibly strong image. How do you think Thirty-Seven could respect herself at her office. For everyone there, she had the soul of a submissive. It was no longer possible for her to choose a different path. The illusion of status had been shattered.
The sight of her boss wearing a white apron with a serving platter in her hands caused Véronique to burst out laughing, a laugh of revenge. Véronique said, “Madame plays at being a boss with her manicured nails, lording over her subordinates with her files, but now I discover that she nothing but a maid.”
Thirty-Seven’s hands held the platter with a death grip, but she remained standing at attention. Even when Véronique asked for permission to slap her.
It was as if Véronique suddenly had a weight lifted from her shoulders, a very great weight.
Seeing her boss enslaved meant that she could take her life back. But that’s none of my business. What happens at the office is also none of my business. But one thing is certain: Each has chosen her own path.
But back to Thirty-Seven. I think that she did the best thing she could do under the circumstances: Remain at my disposal, resign from her position, and take another job. These days, I’m sure that Véronique takes a malicious pleasure in recounting that evening.
When I talked about the ordeal earlier, that’s what it’s all about. The slave cannot go back. She must come to terms with her new life. Even if she immediately resigned her position, there’ s no guarantee that she could have found a new position as an executive secretary. Nothing is certain.
Deep down, this is what my work is about. I succeed in my job by betting that my maid will one day quit her job to become a full-time maid. In Thirty-Seven’s case, I believe that I’ll win my wager. In your case, Thirty-Eight, I think I’ll win my wager that you’ll ask to become my maid.
(Hanna vigorously shakes her head back and forth in denial.)
Hanna: (Changing the subject again…) Could you say some more about “gifts,” Mistress.
Oh yes! Gifts. You can spIll a lot of ink over nothing on this subject.
I have to to be clear about this: I ask for nothing from my slaves. That’s the truth: Nothing at all. I’m not a “professional” even if I am part of the BDSM scene. I’m not here for the ride. It’s not my thing, even though I like to train, to have a slave under my boot. As I said at the beginning of this interview, I like to condition the mind of a being to make it a long term, compliant, servile domestic object that I can eventually sell.
Contrary to what one might believe, by refusing to let a slave pay for my services, I make her more dependent because she knows that one day I might dismiss her with a snap of my finger. There are no financial considerations. She doesn’t pay to be a slave. No! She is a slave because she is dedicated to serving for free. On the other hand, what I can do—and it is stipulated in their terms of service—when I feel they are ready, is to rent them out.
Hanna: You rent them out, Mistress?
Yes. It’s good experience for the slave to come to grips with the life of a domestic.
Do you want an example? It’s simple. Recently, I was strolling the Boulevard St. Germaine with a friend. Like a women possessed, I became transfixed in front of a “MacDouglas,” a short trench coat of supple white leather.
It was Sublime. But the price was as high as the quality of the leather. I dithered in front my friend, but I knew that it would blow a hole in my budget if I bought it.
Three phone calls later, I was sure that I could swing it. Even if it was going to take more time than I wanted to raise the money, Thirty-Seven was going to be rented as cleaning lady by a cleaning company for a month—which would cover a small part of the purchase—then would be a temporary chambermaid at a small hotel. For what it’s worth, recall the beginning of our conversation when I said she was registered with a temp agency. Thirty-Seven’s also paid for her own trousseau even though I selected her uniforms. Between us, I prefer domestic elegance. You should never be seen with a maid reassembling a Portuguese domestic. Elegance and style, that’s my motto.
The cost of her clothes and meals are counted as extra hours of service—180 hours extra—that Thirty-Seven paid by serving as a maid-of-all-work. Think about, Thirty-Eight. When I win our wager, and you become my maid, in addition the the 400 hours of service you’ll owe me, you’ll have to serve 180 extra hours to pay for your uniforms and meals for a total of 580 hours. Just imagine all the humiliation you’ll have to endure: Serving your betters, scrubbing the floor, accepting discipline, enduring the contempt of the public. I can hardly wait.
Hanna: Could you say more about uniforms and meals, Mistress?
Mme. Nguyen: Let’s start with the trousseau.
(Mme. Nguyen opens a catalog and shows Hanna the photos.)
Here are photos of three typical uniforms in the catalog of the “Au Gant d’Or” at the Place Victor Hugo in Paris. I recommend this boutique, even though the uniforms are a bit expensive. The front desk is very professional and efficient.
It seems to me that one’s maid should start out with simple models without pretentious and sophisticated details. It is important that even a quick glance at the uniform identifies it as a maid’s uniform. Two of each uniform should be purchased so that there is at least one uniform in presentable condition.
Once the uniforms are bought, they are the domestic slave’s responsibility. You shouldn’t hesitate to inspect her uniforms periodically and make her re-iron them if necessary. I’m uncompromising on this point. And the same goes for my table service, her white gloves, the shine on her shoes, and so forth. When I go shopping, she will carry my purchases as trails behind me in a neutral-colored raincoat.
The slave should wear little or no makeup.
Another thing, before your maid starts her service, send her to the hairdresser to get a simple, short haircut that won’t let her hair cover her face. Supplement the haircut with wigs, for example, to project an image of elegance at a soirée.
What about the meals of a domestic object?
This is obvious. Since she is not full-time, there is no need to make special arrangements. She should eat something before reporting for duty. On the other hand, if, for some reason, you need her for a weekend, that’s a horse of a different color. However, I never spend more than 2 euros per day on a slave. They aren’t worth more. Leftovers should be sufficient to meet their needs. In many countries, the inhabitants eat only one meal a day and don’t die as a result. Also the maid shouldn’t eat during her hours of service and shouldn’t spend more than 15 minutes when she does eat.
At any rate, everyone, it seems to me, should manage their domestic object as they see fit. If you have a meal a bit too refined for a maid—ordered from a caterer for example—don’t hesitate to feed your maid cat food, dog biscuits, or kibble. It’s good training for your domestic, an important part of her education. It shows her her true status.
Finally, let me discuss sleeping arrangements.
When the slave has to stay overnight, she’ll sleep in the kitchen on a folding cot or an air mattress. She’ll relieve herself in a makeshift chamber pot. Plus she’ll have to get up an hour early to clean everything and get her uniform ready.
When I require her services for a longer time, for example, a summer holiday, she uses a shed away from the house that has been equipped with electricity and water. She may then organize her life as she sees fit.
(Silence For a moment as Hanna studies her notes.)
Hanna: Mistress, I think I’ve got everything I came for. This concludes the interview. Thank you for your time and patience in answering my questions.
(Hanna flips her notebook shut and assumes the position of a maid awaiting orders.)
Mme. Nguyen: Well, Thirty-Eight, it looks like I’ve lost our wager. You’re still haven’t asked to be my maid. I guess I owe you 50 hours of Thirty-Seven’s service.
(Hanna looks highly conflicted and about to say something.)
Hanna: Wait, Mistress…
(Hanna scribbles furiously in her notebook, rips out a page, and hands it to Mme Nguyen.)
Mme. Nguyen: What’s this? (She reads the note.) A Note giving me the option of enslaving Hanna A____ as my maid at any time I so choose, signed by Hanna A____. I can’t accept this, Thirty-Eight. (Hands the note back to Hanna.) To become my maid, you’re going to have to humiliate yourself by begging to be my maid. You’re going to have to find the courage of your convictions to become what you’ve always wanted to be: A domestic slave. I can’t make this decision for you; you have to do it yourself. When you’re shining my shoes, scrubbing my floors, cleaning my toilets, you have to know that you’re doing these tasks because of a decision you’ve made, not a decision I’ve made. When you’re imprisoned in a stinky, sweaty maid’s uniform, you have to know it’s because you locked yourself in your uniform and threw away the key. Everyone has to know that you’re a maid because that’s what you wanted.
Hanna: (Starts to tremble.) Madame Nguyen, I concede the wager. I cannot let you humiliate yourself like this. You’re a Mistress, and I’m not. If anyone should be humiliated, it should be me. It’s what I’ve always wanted: To be a maid. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by, I must overcome my fears. You’ve won. I’ll pay you the 580 hours of service I owe you by serving as your maid.
(Hanna falls to her knees and begins kissing the toes of Mme. Nguyen’s boots. Hanna doesn’t notice, as she bends over, that her cleaning lady’s uniform hikes itself upwards, uncovering her posterior, a posterior criss-crossed with red stripes, a posterior whose shameful dampness glistens in the late afternoon sun, a dampness that reveals what truly motivates her, a dampness that overcame all her fears about becoming a maid.)
Please, Mistress, Thirty-Eight begs to be your maid.
Mme. Nguyen: (Speaking with a subtle disdain together with a pinch of contempt.) My God, Thirty-Eight, to be reduced to licking my boots for pleasure. You really are less than shit. Get up and pull your uniform back over your ass. I expect even an untrained maid to show a modicum of decorum.
(Hanna stands up, tugs at her uniform, and curtseys.)
I knew that I’d win In the end. But right now, we need to settle a few things. Before I’ll accept you as my maid, you’ll have to pass a couple of tests such as my famous serving-a-glass-of-water test. If you pass the tests, then you’ll sign a contract at which time you become my maid. But you already know all this. By the way, do you have any objections if I commander your outfit?
Hanna: But Mistress, what will Thirty-Eight wear home?
Mme. Nguyen: First, you’re wearing a perfectly good outfit. Wear that home. Second, you’ll now address me as “Madame,” not “Mistress.” That’s a 10 hour penalty. Third, you didn’t answer my question. That’s a 25 hour penalty. You now owe a total of 615 hours. To repeat my question: Any objections?
Hanna: Uh…No, Madame. But Madame, Thirty-Eight can’t wear this uniform home! What will the neighbors think?
Mme. Nguyen: I don’t care what the neighbors think. Perhaps I should invite them over and have you serve them tea. Pay attention: I don’t argue with my maids. My job is to give the orders, and yours, to obey. That’s 50 extra penalty hours for arguing. You now owe 665 hours.
(Hanna shudders in ecstasy. She finally has what she has so desperately wanted: A strict Mistress to train her as a maid, a strict mistress who will demand nothing less than perfection, a strict mistress who will show Hanna her place.)
Hanna: Madame, may Thirty-Eight speak?
Mme. Nguyen: What is it, Thirty-Eight?
Hanna: Madame, thank you punishing Thirty-Eight as she deserves. Please be strict with her so that she learns to serve Madame better.
Mme. Nguyen: Thirty-Eight won’t serve me “better;” she’ll serve me perfectly…or else! Now, fetch me a glass of water. Show me that you have what it takes to be my maid, to be my domestic object, to be my slave.
(Hanna curtseys and leaves for the kitchen.)
Mme. Nguyen: (To herself.) This is going to be fun.
(Mme. Nguyen leans over and switches off the voice recorder.)
Epilogue (A Couple of Years in the Future)
Sophie Nguyen rang the doorbell at Hanna’s apartment. Sophie had finally emancipated Hanna after she had paid back all the hours she owed. Hanna had resumed her old job as a freelance journalist. Sophie wondered what Hanna wanted.When the door opened, Sophie was surprised to see Thirty-Seven standing there, wearing a well-tailored suit rather than a maid’s uniform.
“Thirty-Seven, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m now called Béatrice, but I don’t mind being called Thirty-Seven. Please do come in.”
Béatrice led Sophie into the living room and motioned her to sit on one of the leather chairs.
Sophie said, “I thought you had become a full-time maid after I sold you. What happened?”
Béatrice replied, “I was a full-time maid, but at my last job, my Mistress asked me if I wanted to be her head of household, to supervise her other maids. She told me that if I didn’t accept, she would appoint the sadistic Laure instead. So I accepted. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I’m very good at cracking the whip. My time in service taught me the secrets of servant psychology, how to push a maid’s buttons to get her to obey, to make her want to obey, to make her need to obey. I also learned how much fun it was to be the Mistress, to watch the maids squirm under my strict supervision, to punish them for the slightest transgression, to have them kiss my toes. I guess that submission and dominance are two different sides of the same coin. I eventually left my former employer to set up a firm that offers domestic supervisory services.”
“But how did you end up here?”
“Well, I heard that Hanna was looking for a maid to do her housekeeping. So I approached her with an offer: If she hired me as her head of household, I would take care of both finding and supervising her maid. For a fee of course. Hanna was happy to let me worry about the maid so that she could focus on her journalistic activities.”
Béatrice picked up a little bell from the coffee table and rang it.
A short time later a maid walked into the room in her uniform and apron, stood at attention before the two women, white-gloved hands resting on her apron, curtseyed, lowered her eyes, and said, “At your service, Mistress.”
Sophie said, “Thirty-Eight! This is your own apartment. What are you doing here as a maid?”
“Thirty-Eight, tell Sophie what happened.”
Having difficulty maintaining her composure, Thirty-Eight said, “Mme. Béatrice offered to act as my head of household. We negotiated a contract. I insisted that contract contain clauses similar to the ones in your contracts, Mme. Sophie, ones that specified punishments and so forth, ones that insisted on strict supervision of the maid.”
Thirty-Eight appeared reluctant to say anything more, but Béatrice insisted, “Tell us what happened next.* That’s an order!”
“Mme. Sophie, after I had signed the contract, Mme. Beatrice said that it would take awhile to find a maid. Since I needed a maid right away to do my housework, she proposed that I temporarily serve as the maid, under her supervision. After all, she said, I had plenty of experience and was registered as a cleaning lady. She emphasized that it would be temporary until she found a full-time maid….Please Mme. Béatrice, don’t make me continue.”
With a don’t-disobey-me tone in her voice, Béatrice said, “Tell us more, Thirty-Eight.”
“Mistress, I stupidly agreed since it was only temporary. I figured, ‘What the hell.’ But then she reminded me that I had insisted that whatever maid she hired had to be under contract, that it was my rule. She just happened have a contract that she had prepared for me to sign. She laid it in front of me, reviewed the terms of the contract, and pointed out the clause stipulating that the contract was ‘temporary’ until a full-time maid was hired. She said that I had to put on a maid’s uniform before signing the contract because I had insisted that everything be done strictly according to protocol. So, once in my old maid-of-all-work uniform, standing at attention in front of my own desk, with Mme. Béatrice seated behind it in my Herman Miller Aeron chair, I signed the contract.”
“Don’t stop, Thirty-Eight, do continue, inquiring minds want to know.”
“Please, Mistress, it’s too embarrassing.”
Béatrice said, “It’s either obey me or six stripes with the cane.”
“Mistress, after I signed the contract, I curtseyed and asked Mme. Béatrice how long it would take to find a full-time maid. She said that as long as my service was satisfactory, there was no rush to find a full-time maid. Then she swished her cane In front of my face and said that it would assure that my service was satisfactory.”
“Anything else, Thirty-Eight?”
“Yes, Mistress, you informed me that your head-of-household contract with me had a term of 2 years, and, unbeknownst to me, I had given you the option of extending an It by additional two years as often as you pleased.”
“Which meant?”
Thirty-Eight looked like she wanted to sink in the ground. “Which meant that I was a slave with no hope of emancipation, Mistress. I can’t run away because I’m my own Mistress. And I gave you the right to supervise me as you saw fit.”
Sophie said, “That’s brilliant, Béatrice, you made Hanna her own maid who reports to you and, besides that, pays you for the privilege. She’s going to have to learn how to embrace her slavery once and for all, to become the being she has always yearned to be. You’re surpassed me as a Mistress. I salute you.”
Béatrice said, “Thank you, Sophie, that’s why I had Thirty-Eight invite you over. I knew you’d appreciate it. Let’s celebrate Thirty-Eight’s downfall. Thirty-Eight, fetch two flutes of champagne.”
Thirty-Eight curtseyed and returned to the kitchen.
Béatrice turned to Sophie and said, “How’s the book editing business these days?”
Sophie replied, “Not so good since Amazon.com arrived on the scene. I’m looking for some moonlighting opportunities.”
“Sorry to hear it. My business is doing quite well. in fact, I’m making more money than when I was an executive secretary. It turns out that becoming your maid was one of the best things that ever happened to me. By the way, did you know that I’m looking for my own personal maid. Do you have any suggestions? I’d appreciate it if you do.”
“Well…there’s a Mistress of my acquaintance who fears that’s she’s gotten too big for her breeches. She’s afraid to admit it, but I think that she wants to be taken down a peg or two to restore her sense of balance. But she’s never found the right Mistress to serve. She might be willing to serve you if you were willing to be gentle with her.”
Béatrice replied, “You know that we Mistresses never negotiate with slaves. If she wants to be my maid, she’ll do it on my terms. And who might this ‘friend’ of yours be?”
Sophie looked down and stammered, “She’s someone I’m intimately familiar with.”
Béatrice smiled and said, “I thought as much. Here’s what you should do: Take my card, and have your friend report to my office at 10 am tomorrow in her maid’s uniform. And tell her not to be late.”
“Sophie will be there at 10 am sharp.”
Béatrice glowered at Sophie.
Sophie blushed and said, “Mistress…Please forgive me Mistress.”
“Fat chance,” Béatrice thought to herself and grinned, “This will be fun.”
Excellent text, very well written and phsycologically superb!
ReplyDeleteMonica G
Excellent story....some more on working as maid or cleaner in public areas.....possibly in sweaty garb unifroms
ReplyDeleteSuggestion for next installment, hanna is sold to a billonaire's daughter as a penthouse maid/slave. sophie is forced to wear chinese servant uniform; black trouser with white cotton chinese top. Just an idea, great blog!! Keep up the nice work
ReplyDeleteThis is a stunning piece, so well written, and so erotic, many thanks to the people who got this onto the internet, I love it
ReplyDeleteJust found this blog.... So wonderfully erotic :-)
ReplyDeleteI absolutely love it omg, I hope there's more to it after this, it's so amazing...I can't help but to picture myself as one of Mme. Nguyen's maid and it just turns me on instantly
ReplyDeleteYes something about the would be maids being sent to the hairdresser to have their haircut short before they start, just hope the hairdresser gives them all the same short style maybe a simple basin cut at least an inch about their ears and eyebrows should come off too.
Deleteloved it, will be a continuation?
ReplyDeleteCurrently, I have no plans for continuing the story, mainly because I have no ideas for a sequel but also because I think that the natural point to end a mistress-to-maid story is when the mistress commits to becoming a maid.
DeleteHowever, I am seriously considering one or more prequels or origin stories which explain how Hanna became interested in becoming a maid. I'm still working out the details for such a story at present. I may submit such a story to Camille in the near future.
T.H. Enerdly
really looking forward to when you write your story
DeleteThank you, well written loved it
ReplyDeleteXX
JJ
Please do a sequal
ReplyDeleteI loved the ending of this one, tricked into being your own maid. how wonderful.
ReplyDeleteI love this story so much. Is there any reality in it? Is there really any such person as or like Madame Nguen?
ReplyDelete