Maid in China

With Barefoot Servant still working on the next installment of Maid in China, here is a piece of art inspired by the story that one of his friends created. Do I see a comic in the making here?

In Cap and Apron: A Real Story of Going Undercover as a Victorian Maid

It is no secret that Victorians were fascinated by domestic servants. It was a forbidden, yet incredibly appealing world that was studied and observed by the upper classes much like the ethnographers in the period were studying native tribes in Africa or the Americas. And just like the best way to understand a foreign culture was working in the field, often for an extended period of time and, not infriquently, completely going native and embracing that culture as your own, the best way to undersand what it meant to be a servant was becoming one, joining the working classes.

One such student of the working classes was Elizabeth L. Banks, an American journalist, who spent most of her adult life in England. She wrote extensively on lives of poor women - maids, washerwomen, street sweeps, flower girls - and built her career as a critic of Victorian-era British class society. Her method was going undercover among the low classes to investigate their living conditions, habits and opinions, creating a sensation in 1890s London as one of the pioneers of stunt journalism. Her adventures in disguise often led to hilarious, clash-of-cultures results, but also offered a unique look into the lives of the late Victorian working classes. Banks first published her detailed accout of life as a domestic servant, appropriately called In Cap and Apron, in the Weekly Sun in 1893. It was republished in full the following year as part of her collection titled  Campaigns of curiosity, which also included her impersonating an American heiress seeking to marry an English lord and a Covent Garden flower girl.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 14.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

Still in a state of shock, I was walking down the road toward the Signora’s house, which fortunately wasn’t very far. I was feeling very vulnerable in my fetishistic French maid’s uniform, but in this rich residential neighborhood the streets were very quiet and only an occasional car was passing or an occasional maid was walking a dog. I was immensely relieved when I suddenly realized that I was clutching my purse, which contained my cheap mobile, some small change and Signora’s house keys; I must have grabbed it on my way out without even thinking, what a relief!

I was pleased to see that nobody was in the house so I run to my room, high heels in my hands, and changed instantly into my regular uniform and apron, not forgetting my white cap. I immediately felt that I was back in my comfort zone and all of a sudden I realized how deeply dependent I have become on my maid persona.   

I began ironing in the utility room, trying to diffuse my anger and frustration. Gradually I started realizing the enormity of what has just happened. The contempt in Mark’s eyes when he made me kneel in front of him kept returning to my mind and then I remembered Dr. Caprio’s words that I would need a shock to overtake that period of my life. The shock was given to me by Mark himself and together with the shock the catharsis came; I felt free to move on now.  

Story: Fanchon's Book

When discussing Jackie J's latest story, the deliciously inventive Madame Deville, one of the readers mentioned a book with a somewhat similar plot I've never heard of: Fanchon's Book by one Zane Pella.  I decided to give it a try and, despite its somewhat over-the-top writing style, I did enjoy it. And, with a synopsis promising a story of a servant becoming a master and the master a "willing, lust-craven slave, who can do little more that writhe and slaver in frantic, body-heating desire for yet another opportunity to prove her shuddering submissiveness" how can one not enjoy this book?

Fanchon's Book was published in 1972 by Venus Library, a U.S. publishing house originally specializing in re-prints of vintage pornography, in particular American clandestine erotica from the 1920s and 1930s, that also published contemporary S/M stories. There is actually a very interesting story behind Venus Library - you can read more about it here. Fanchon's Book is apparently one of its finer releases. I was unable to find anything else by "Zane Pella", but the book's copyright is held by Gilbert Fox, who wrote a number of soft-porn books throughout the 1960s under pseudonyms Dallas Mayo and Kimberly Kemp.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Parts 9-10.

by Violet Carson

Part 9

I returned home from my meeting with Jenny in a state of shock and abject fear. I had no idea what my parents would say when they found out that I’d lied to them about Dubai and no doubt they’d be absolutely perplexed and deeply hurt by my transformation intro Rose. They may even side with Mark, thinking I’d had some kind of breakdown and be very concerned for the state of my marriage. Clearly, some of those thoughts were even shared by me. In reality all of them were:

“Why was I so drawn to becoming Rose?” I asked myself. It was humiliating, frightening and degrading, but somehow I felt totally unable to break away from this person I’d created. It was as if she was completely replacing my own personality, thoughts and tastes with those of a downtrodden poorly educated old maid, and for some inexplicable reason, I was totally engrossed.

Mark returned from work, thankfully alone and I insisted he listen to my tale of what had unfolded with Jenny. I told him I expected my mother to be in touch at anytime and that we had to admit to her that we’d lied about Dubai.

My mind raced, could we say it was some kind of social experiment? Could we say I’d just had enough of my old work or it was some crazy bet? Would she buy any of it and was our marriage effectively over?

Maid Fantasy: Vogue Germany 2011

I haven't posted fashion editorials featuring maids for quite a while, so here is a one from July 2011 with model Ginta Lapina.

Story: New Employee. Chapters 8-9

By BigBird74

8.

I woke up a few hours later slightly disoriented and unsure of what had just happened. I was in that netherworld of half-dream half-awake enjoying the sensuousness of laying in my bed smothered in cool silk sheets. I felt terrific, though had not yet remembered why I felt so good. When I did recall what had happened, I sat bolt upright with a startled jump and stared long and hard at my arms and legs. I was still brown. A very dark brown too. Obviously the lotion had continued working while I slept, pushing me further from my usual identity and skin tone.

A great sense of lethargy descended on me. I was tired from all the excitement and anxiety that had been gripping me for the past few hours and, now, in the aftermath of taking and sending those photographs I felt at ease. Perhaps it was not lethargy, but calmness I was feeling. This whole weird and warped adventure was really about to happen and, for once, it was out of my hands. In some odd fashion, the die had been cast and the big decisions already taken. The whole thing was happening way too quickly. I felt a twinge of anxiety again, but my eyes were drawn to my dark skin and I felt becalmed once more. Perhaps this adventure had already started.

Story: Madame Deville

(revised an extended version published on Oct. 5, 2016)

by Jackie J

Madame Deville slipped her hand from the finely manicured fingers of her maid Chantelle.

Glancing across the large soft pillows to the loose strands of Chantelle’s long blonde hair Madame Deville watched the bodice of her maid's fine Broderie Anglais nightdress rise and fall in rhythm with Chantelle’s breathing before slowly sliding from beneath the sheets.

She should shower and stared into the extensive en suite, but not here.  Walking to the closet she stopped herself and gazed down at the crumpled garments on the floor at the foot of the bed.  Picking the clothing from the floor, she was soon dressed and with the heavy hem of her long dress gathering at her ankles she made her way quietly out of the bed chamber, along the hallway and down the staircase.

A pot of tea, a china cup and saucer placed symmetrically on a silver tray Madame Deville climbed the staircase and having returned to the master bedchamber lightly knocked on the door then entered.

Chantelle, raised herself on her pillows, smiled and without a word pointed where the tray was to be placed.

Madame Deville lowered the tray stepped back and curtsied.

“Your morning tea, Mistress.”

Maids: Korean TV drama (2015)

I've been alerted to "Maids", a TV drama set in medieval Korea, a while back by a reader of this blog, but it's only recently that I've found time to take a look at the first few episodes. I've already mentioned the strange fascinations that most East Asian nations, including Korea, have with maids and servants. Maids are mainstays of fashion magazine spreads - for example, Vogue Korea  or Vogue Japan. There is the odd phenomenon of "maid cafes", where waitresses are dressed like French maids. There is even, as I've recently discoved, a Japanese girl band appropriately called Band-Maid, whose members are always dressed as maids, even though they play hard rock.

So it was hardly a surprise for me that Koreans would make a TV series with a plot made for Ladies Becoming Maids blog.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Parts 7-8.

by Violet Carson

Part 7

A week later Mark approached me with an idea that had almost undoubtedly been driven by Lucy.

He had arranged for me to have an interview the following week with Dave Smith, MD of Office Sanitation. His firm cleaned all of Parfitt’s properties as well as many others. Mark didn’t tell me how much Mr. Smith knew about Rose, but he couldn’t afford to lose Parfitt’s as a client, so I’m sure the job, whatever it was, was going to be mine. This was a deeply worrying turn of events and one that I hadn’t seen coming at all. My plan had been to have some fun being subservient to Mark in our house, not to be a slave to that Chinese tart Lucy or be farmed out as a professional domestic!

Mark and Lucy had obviously spent sometime planning this over the past week, as he then presented me with a piece of paper that was Rose’s Resume and biography that I was to learn for the interview. I read it, completely dumbstruck by what they’d prepared.

My real date of birth was 28th July 1988, however Rose Edwards was born on the same day but in 1963, I was supposed to be 53. I knew I could probably be seen as a woman in her 40s as Rose, but 50s, no way! I protested to Mark but he reminded me that the contract I had signed said “place of work may change”, I assumed that was just something he’d copied from one of his work employment contracts. I never for one minute imagined it would be used. And then he said Zoe had agreed to come over the next day to help me prepare and that Lucy would be on hand as well, as she had “offered” to take the day off to support me.

Emma Finn's Cleaner II. Book 2. Chapters 4-6.

This text is courtesy of Emma Finn's Dark Tales of Transformation blog (now sadly defunct). Cleaner II was supposed to be a trilogy of transformation novels, but the author passed away before being able to complete it. The first book was published, the second one was left unfinished on Emma's blog (and now copied to Ladies to Maids as a precaution as Emma's blog could be taken down due to inactivity. You can read Chapters 1-3 here: it was too long for Blogspot to be published on one page). The first part of Cleaner II is available from Amazon and I highly recommend it to any fan of lady-to-maid stories. This novel is second to none. There is also the original version of Cleaner, also written by Emma Finn, which shares the original premise, but is different enough (and, more importantly, it was competed by the author) - also highly recommended. 

Chapter Four - Part One

A New Person 

KATHERINE

Time hadn’t made things better. Not really.

All the passing of the weeks and months had done for Katherine was to give her time to question herself and all the choices she had made in her life as she pottered about her house and garden doing needless tidying that nobody else would ever see to appreciate.

Sixteen years as Dahlia’s personal assistant. She had been there almost from the beginning of the beautiful young woman’s modelling career; witnessed every step higher in prestige and success. She had been there for her when her parents died, helped her through the dark time of that awful breakdown that had come after. Katherine knew Dahlia better than anybody; had been there for her more than anyone else; but all she could see now, looking back, were ways in which she’d let her down.

Emma Finn's Cleaner II. Book 2. Chapters 1-3.

This text is courtesy of Emma Finn's Dark Tales of Transformation blog (now sadly defunct). Cleaner II was supposed to be a trilogy of transformation novels, but the author passed away before being able to complete it. The first book was published, the second one was left unfinished on Emma's blog (and now copied to Ladies to Maids as a precaution as Emma's blog could be taken down due to inactivity. You can read Chapters 4-6 here: it was too long for Blogspot to be published on one page). The first part of Cleaner II is available from Amazon and I highly recommend it to any fan of lady-to-maid stories. This novel is second to none. There is also the original version of Cleaner, also written by Emma Finn, which shares the original premise, but is different enough (and, more importantly, it was competed by the author) - also highly recommended. 

Prologue - Part One

KATHERINE

Katherine had told herself that after the fifteenth missed call she would go round there and knock on the door, despite Dahlia’s clear instruction that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Ever again.

But the fifteenth call came and went and still she didn’t drive up to Summertop.

She knew she should, that was the thing. She knew there was the potential for actual physical danger to her employer.

... Former employer...

And certainly danger to her fragile psyche...

But Katherine was just as afraid that any further pressure from her would be enough to split Dahlia’s mind wide open, where up to now there were only hairline cracks.

At the start of each day she told herself she would go but immediately after the resolution she would remember Dahlia’s red-rimmed eyes and desperate expression at the hospital after her brother died, as she told her to leave her alone. It couldn’t have been clearer. And though the admonition hadn’t been enough to stop Katherine sending texts of support and voicemails promising succour, she hadn’t physically made the journey. She hadn’t gone up to Dahlia’s house to see her face to face.

It was the phone call that finally clinched it; that sent Katherine hurtling finally, over the river from Nockton Vale and up the valley wall into Pinecrest village.

Story: New Employee. Chapter 6-7.

Thankfully my post a few days back made Bigbird come out from the shadows. Here are the next two chapters of his tale that has all the makings of a great lady-to-maid story.

New Employee

By BigBird74

6. The following weeks featured many more ‘little’ lies. I had to keep telling myself that that was it they were, little white lies, or else I would send myself into a panic as to what I was doing. Since I was young, I have found it easier to do difficult things if I think a little less and just act. I suppose I am naturally impulsive and, while to date, I had not suffered as a result, there were a few times I had skirted close to disaster. Still each of my new lies were now reinforcing older ones. Marta was on the books. A few days later, I had needed to make up a social security number. Then, if that was not bad enough, I crossed my own personal Rubicon. Personnel had requested a photograph.

When I first read that request my heart had jumped several somersaults and my stomach sunk to my feet. In all my planning and scheming, I had not thought that particular problem through. I searched my aching head for an alternative – any alternative – to actually sending a picture. I thought of using a fake picture off the internet, but that would merely be adding to my troubles. Oh god! I had really gotten myself into a tangle here.

It was then I considered actually taking a photograph and actually sending them a picture of Marta, well, me. My eyes ran over to the box that had been delivered some days earlier, containing the various uniforms under consideration as the new standard for all cleaning staff. I had not touched it for a day now. I giggled, mocking my own reluctance to risk opening the box, fearing a repeat of my initial, overexcited reaction.  Almost as soon as the door had slammed behind the delivery boy, I had stripped naked and tried all the uniforms on. I had squirmed as I felt the cheapness of the material up against my body and revelled in the tawdriness of it all, recalling how that cleaner had looked on her hands and knees.

Emma Finn

Dear readers of this blog,

As many of you may have heard, Emma Finn, one of the most prolific and talented authors of transformation stories, has passed away. I've been an avid fan of her writing for over a decade and, while we've never met in person, we've exchanged e-mails over the years and she'd given me some invaluable writing advice. I think that I owe her at least this short post in memoriam. I am not very good at writing obituaries or at giving speeches so please forgive me if I ramble just a bit.

People dissapear from the internet all the time. They don't answer e-mails. They stop posting on facebook or twitter. They stop updating their blogs. It's normal. Real life likes to interfer when you least expect it. It is rarely that we assume that someone who's no longer online must have died. We like to think that internet makes us eternal. At least we often behave as if it does. Sadly, with Emma there is no room for ambiguity. Ever since she announced a few months back to her readers that she had cancer I hoped against hope that she would win this battle. The fact that she continued posting - albeit not as regularly as before, but still far more often that a lot of other bloggers, myself included - only reinforced my perception that she was doing fine or, at least, better. I hate to say that I was wrong.

I first read her stories on Fictionmania around 2003 or 2004 and was struck by her unique blend of dark transformation. Her original Cleaner is still one of my all-time favorite transformation stories and a true lady-to-maid classic. Emma began work on a major expansion of that story, turning it into a novel-length study of self-destructing obsession and fetishism like no other. Sadly, only the first part (out of three) was completed. The last post she made in her blog - about a month before she died - was chapter 6 of the second part of that magnificent saga. Unfortunately, it will never be finished.

What made Emma's stories different from a lot of transformation fiction one can find online is their unparalleled quality. Simply put, this is very good literature with great dialogue, interesting plots and realistic reactions and situations. This is what makes her writing so powerful. I can only hope to one day begin to approach the same level of intensity and depth that the best of her stories posessed. I do not know what Emma's "real life" profession was, but she did treat her books as her most important occupation, sticking to a very strict publishing schedule for an extended period of time. As a reader I would never forget this dedication to the craft.

Rest in peace, dear Emma.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 13.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

The following morning I woke up as usual and went about my cleaning and cooking routine I could now do with my eyes closed. While my hands and feet were moving almost on autopilot, my mind was racing as I was seeking immediate answers to what happened to me and how I should go about it. I was overcome with conflicting emotions of dread, excitement, curiosity, confusion and fear.

There was no denying that John Carlo forced himself on me. Did he rape me? I wasn’t too sure. I couldn’t lie to myself that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. Every second of it. And that’s what worried me. I thought I’ve long suppressed my sexual cravings, even since my romance with Mark fell through, but I’ve now discovered the side of me I didn’t know existed. And it was all Molly’s, with no Julia in sight. Julia wouldn’t even look at John Carlo twice, but for Molly he was an acceptable - and even desirable - mate.

Still, I felt like a stereotypical naive peasant girl in a big city - tricked and taken advantage of. Did John Carlo now think I was a slut because I submitted to him so easily? There was nothing in my previous life that could help me select the right course of action. If Filipino soap operas I’d been watching were any guide, I was in big, big trouble. I suddenly felt like a character in one of these TV productions - a simple girl of humble origins, who is facing the big world full of dangers of all kinds.

Story: New Employee

This story was originally published at The Changing Mirror and I thought I'd post it here - after all it references this blog directly. BigBird74 has kindly allowed me to re-publish it before going incommunicado. I hope it is finished sooner rather than later - it has the makings of one of the best-written lady2maid stories out there.

New Employee

By BigBird74

My bedroom sits at the front of the penthouse atop one of the tallest buildings in New York. Oh yes, I am fabulously rich, though unlike my snap-happy sister I do not parade it about town. My sister is what my father calls ‘the face of the family’. She is happy to cut ribbons, date reality stars and post an endless stream of fatuous photographs onto the web. Yes, she is very much the publicity hog of the family, while I prefer to play second fiddle leading a much more private life.

Sure I make it into the gossip columns every now and again, but there is no way I would ever be recognised walking down your average high street. I do not have to worry about the steady accumulation of column inches that my sister gets every time she changes the way she wears her hair. Still all is not what it seems. She recently won an award for ‘Woman of the Year’ for organising a cycling marathon that yours truly had spent an entire weekend working on, while ‘Madame Publicity’ as I called her sat by the pool.

Do I sound slightly bitter? Well, maybe I am a little. But I love my sister despite her efforts to hog every spotlight she sees. It has always been like that. I was the smart one. The dependable one. As the older sibling, my father knew that one day his vast fortune would be mine to dispense with, so naturally he tried to make sure I had the skills needed to protect his legacy. While I spent my time with him discussing numbers and buildings, my sister got to ask him which dress was prettiest. In some ways I was the son my father never had. My mother, a doe-eyed beauty queen, had left him shortly after I was born and he had never remarried. So that was it. No son, and only me to fill that hole.