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.”
Chantelle smirked at the once famous author Madame Deville, who was now her housemaid and sex toy. It had been two years since their roles were reversed. Up until that time it was Chantelle who was the one serving Madame Deville.
“Your apron is stained, girl! Make sure you change it before you prepare my breakfast.”
Madame Deville, or Jane as she was now called, lowered her head and curtsied.
When Madame Deville required a new maid, following the departure of her long-term help, she had not realized how difficult the task would be, and settled on one of only three candidates who applied for the position. Madame Deville’s manor house stood in its own secluded grounds a number of miles from the nearest town. The location making it a prerequisite for the maid to live at the manor house, this seemed to be the problem, along with Madame Deville’s strict and old-fashioned rules demanded of her maid.
Chantelle was hired and soon became accustomed to the strict rules of her Mistress, proving to be the perfect maid and, having been without domestic help for a number of months, Madame Deville settled back into her normal routines of writing without the drudgery of doing her own housekeeping.
Madame Deville was a widow of independent means in her early forties, who lived a reclusive existence, rarely venturing out of the manor house – and finding it easier to deal with all matters through correspondence rather than face to face.
An accomplished author, she had written a number of successful erotic novels and the proceeds funded a comfortable but not ostentatious lifestyle. Whilst quite famous in literary circles, she shunned publicity. She had never even met her agent or publisher in person.
Twelve months after Chantelle had entered the service of Madame Deville, she found her Mistress almost in tears at her desk screwed up pieces of paper scattered across the floor around her.
Madame Deville turned to her maid Chantelle as she entered.
“O, Chantelle, I do not know what to do. I really don’t.”
“I have been paid a large advance to write another novel and I just cannot find the inspiration, I just can’t.”
Chantelle placed the tray with her Mistress's afternoon tea on the desk, curtsied and stood back.
Madame Deville explained her dilemma to Chantelle, who listened intently.
It was at breakfast the next morning that Chantelle offered a sheet of paper containing some scribbled notes to her Mistress. Chantelle had read most of Madame Deville’s erotic novels and had written a plot plan which she knew would fit the genre.
“Mistress, if I may be so bold, regarding what you told me yesterday, you may think it silly, but take a look. It may be of use to you with your latest novel.”
Madame Deville smiled politely accepting the notes before dismissing her maid.
“Thank you, Chantelle. I will take a look.”
Madame Deville retired to her study and read through the scribbled notes. She read them over and over expanding in her own creative mind the potential from this seed of an idea. Erotic it was, and ticked all the boxes. Madame Deville feeling a hint of her own wetness as she contemplated the expansion of the idea presented to her by her maid Chantelle.
That evening Madame Deville summoned her maid to the drawing room and had her join her for drinks.
“I have read through your ideas Chantelle, and I must say they intrigue me.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Madame Deville continued.
“I do have a slight problem however. The way I write, I need to get under the skin of the characters and research matters thoroughly.” “I am not sure how I can possibly do that with what you describe, and for the ending your notes do not explain how this story ends?”
Chantelle knew exactly how Madame Deville researched her books and chuckled, looking coyly at her Mistress.
“Well you could. We have everything here within the manor house. We can expand on the outline as we go – and the ending? Well, I have an ending in mind, but it would depend on how things unfolded, and of course, in the end you would decide that, wouldn’t you, Mistress?”
Madame Deville, already having expanded the outline plot given to her by her maid, felt the same slight wetness she had experienced on the first reading, and shuffled in her chair for comfort. Considering doing her research within her own home, a light but obvious blush grew across her face.
“But Chantelle, I never thought – I mean, would you? Could we really?”
Chantelle slowly stood from her chair sensing the desperate author would be willing to do whatever it took to get her book written.
“Mistress, I would have no problem in helping you. It would be exciting for both of us, and no one would know here in the seclusion of your manor house, would they?”
Madame Deville gulped before speaking the not unpleasant discomfort of her wetness growing, as Chantelle came closer, her eyes fixed on her Mistress.
“But I, uh, I have never been with, well, you know, another woman. How will we handle the seduction… the beginning of the story?”
Chantelle smiled, offering her hand to her Mistress Madame Deville, who offered her own quivering hands to meet them.
With little encouragement needed, Madame Deville was on her feet, held in the gaze of her maid. Chantelle leaned forward, and when Chantelle’s lips met those of her Mistress, Madame Deville shuddered, a submissive weakness she had not felt since her late husband’s touch, grew like an opening flower within her. Madame Deville had not had sex of any kind since the tragic death of her husband, and Chantelle knew she would be ripe for the taking.
That night Madame Deville learned firsthand what it was like for a Mistress to be seduced by her maid. Chantelle’s skilled touch and probing tongue drove her Mistress into raptures of untold lust and pleasures. Many nights followed of unbridled lesbian trysts, and with Madame Deville slowly becoming infatuated with her maid Chantelle, Madame Deville skillfully and explicitly transposed her experiences onto the pages of her novel.
The first chapter written, Madame Deville smiled, watching Chantelle enter the study. Chantelle scanned the transcript and giggled.
“Well, it seems the Mistress is quite taken by her maid?” “Shall we continue with your research, Mistress? You read my plot plan, so you know what follows, don’t you?”
Madame Deville was unsure, but with her novel well underway, why should she stop now?
Chantelle chuckled, while leading her Mistress to her quarters at the back of the house.
“Now as we agreed, this is where the scheming maid, having seduced her mistress, assumes the role of Mistress, and the Mistress becomes the maid for a short time under the pretext of fooling some visitors.” “This is going to be difficult for us both, but I am sure we can make it quite real. I will organize some local ladies for a visit to meet the famous author.”
Madame Deville looked quizzically at Chantelle, her words hesitant.
“Well, I suppose that this will give me quite an insight into how the Mistress would feel, if it was really happening.”
“That’s right. Of course, it will. Now I cannot be calling you ‘Mistress’, can I? So how does ‘Jane’ sound?”
Madame Deville becoming increasingly excited by the reality of their collective ruse, smiled.
“Yes, yes, ‘Jane’ is good. I will use that in the book.”
Chantelle smiled and pointed to the closet.
“Your uniform is in the closet, underwear in the drawers, shoes by the door. Come to the study when you’re dressed, JANE.”
Madame Deville gave Chantelle another questioning look, hearing her maid call her ‘Jane’ for the first time, then giggled to herself.
“Yes, sorry, I must remember that. I am Jane and you, of course, are my MISTRESS.”
“Yes, that’s right, ‘Jane’, and ‘Mistress’. Don’t forget that now. It’s ‘Mistress’ at all times.”
Madame Deville stripped off her fine clothes and peered into the drawers and closet. The plain cotton underwear, petticoat and long black dress were a tight fit, but it would have to do. It wasn’t until she tied the apron around her and stepped into the heavy shoes, that she felt different. But these were the feelings she needed for her writing, to describe what it was like to be dressed in a maid’s uniform.
Madame Deville sat back on the small bunk of the maid’s quarters, her mind already constructing the prose for her book and, raising her skirts, she was at herself, placing herself into character of a Mistress’ maid. A Mistress having been seduced by her maid, taken to the maid’s quarters and accepting to be dressed into the livery of her own house maid, the whole prospect tantalizing and exciting her.
Unknown time had passed, when panting and her fingers drawing from her sloppiness, Madame Deville’s eyes opened wide, her imaginings so real??
Composing herself, Madame Deville practiced some curtsies, and placing a lace trimmed maid’s cap on her head, made her way to the study, the unfamiliar restrictive heaviness of her long dress swishing at her ankles.
Entering the study, Madame Deville looked in astonishment at her maid Chantelle, who sat at her desk. Her long blonde hair brushed to a glow, expertly applied makeup that enhanced her fine features, and her outfit, one of Madame Deville’s designer suits, perfectly accessorized? She looked stunning.
“I hope you don’t mind your suit and everything. The skirt is a little slack at the waist, but the belt conceals that.”
“Of course you shouldn’t mind, should you? Because I am the MISTRESS now after all, am I not, JANE?”
Madame Deville just stared at Chantelle, speechless. The girl who had so expertly seduced her sat serene at Madame Deville’s own desk.
“Come in, JANE, you look perfect. Your uniform is a little tight, but let’s get that hair of yours sorted.”
Madame Deville shook herself back into reality and stepped forward.
“Sorry, Chantelle, it was just… well, you look so different; absolutely gorgeous.”
Chantelle dismissed the compliment.
“Yes, thank you, JANE. But ‘Chantelle’?”
“If this is going to work for you, then it’s ‘MISTRESS’, and a curtsy for when you address me. Remember, they were your rules for your maid. Don’t those same rules apply to you, now?”
Madame Deville looked at her maid in disbelief, but felt a strange submissiveness towards her maid, dressed as she was now, and not short of attitude. These feelings will transpose well when the novel continues, she thought.
Madame Deville lowered a curtsy.
Chantelle removed Madame Deville’s maid’s cap, then roughly gathered her hair into a tight bun pressing home two clips to hold the style. Chantelle smiled at her Mistress, dressed in her maid’s uniform, bereft of makeup and her long blonde hair tightly scrapped back.
“That’s much better! You make a perfect maid, JANE.”
“Chantelle gave Madame Deville a wink and a coy smile, her words making Madame Deville squirm in expectation.”
“You have me all horny, dressed as you are Jane. I want you in my bed in that uniform tonight girl.”
Madame Deville blushed, a weakening wetness seeping into the gusset of her cotton knickers. With Chantelle dressed in her finery and with her demanding attitude, Madame Deville felt the same. She wanted to be in her Mistress’s bed, and for her Mistress to take her maid.
When the guests arrived at the manor, organized by Chantelle, it was Chantelle who was introduced by JANE as Madame Deville. It was Chantelle who sat holding court, whilst Madame Deville served drinks and then made herself scarce. The feeling of anonymity was peculiar as she watched her maid Chantelle carry off her role so well. Unknown to Madame Deville, the visitors were from the local book club, eager at last to meet the famous reclusive author who lived in their neighborhood. When the guests eventually left, Madame Deville went straight to her study, writing furiously about the encounter.
It was early in the evening when Chantelle entered the study, wearing one of Madame Deville’s negligées beneath an ornate matching silk robe, and stood behind Madame Deville. The scent of Madame Deville’s own exclusive perfume that Chantelle had taken from the master bed chambers en suite, filled Madame Deville’s senses, and she breathed deep, while feeling delicate fingers teasing at the nape of her neck
“Your Mistress wants her maid in her bed.”
Madame Deville practically melted down into her chair to the scent, the touch and Chantelle’s beckoning seductive words.
Chantelle sensed her Mistress’ desires, and spoke again, this time her tone a little more commanding and demanding.
“Did you hear me, GIRL? Your Mistress wants her maid in her bed.”
That night Chantelle made sure that Madame Deville, dressed in her maid’s uniform, was taken to the heights of sexual pleasures. In the morning light, Madame Deville looked at Chantelle wearing one of her fine negligées and sighed, feeling the roughness of her crumpled and soiled maid’s dress about her.
Madame Deville slithered from the bed, a gentle soreness between her legs, her tongue tender. Chantelle, having used her strap-on dildo on her Mistress for the first time, then had her lapping at her pussy for most of the night.
Chantelle opened her eyes to see Madame Deville walking towards the en suite, while tugging at the fastenings of her dress, preparing to de robe and take a shower.
Chantelle sat back against the pillows.
“What are you doing?”
Madame Deville turned – a questioning expression on her face.
“I’m going to get out of these clothes and take a shower, then choose something to wear from my closet?”
“If you dip in and out of your persona, how can you possibly relay the true feelings of a Mistress becoming the maid of her maid within your novel?”
“A maid would not take a shower in her Mistresses en suite, would she?”
“And why would a maid select clothes from her Mistress’ closet?”
“A maid has all she needs in her quarters – a shower and clean uniforms.”
The way Chantelle spoke, it all made sense. What harm could there be in keeping in character? And how else was she going to feel the true emotions needed to write, and for the novel to be making good progress?
Madame Deville looking rather sheepish, turned away from the en suite, and re-buttoned her dress.
“You are right, Chantelle. ’Sorry, I mean ‘Mistress’. I will go to your, ’sorry, I mean my quarters and change.”
“Good girl! And take this dirty laundry with you, Jane.”
Madame Deville smiled to herself, tripping down the stairs – another set of feelings, another level of obedience to add to her novel. Chantelle was really going out of her way to help her, or so she thought.
The soiled underwear added to the laundry, Madame Deville showered, stepped into clean underwear and a fresh uniform, before preparing and serving breakfast to her Mistress. When excused, Madame Deville headed to her study and put pen to paper.
The remainder of the week at the insistence of Chantelle and the acceptance of Madame Deville, the maid around the house was Jane and the Mistress, Chantelle. During the afternoons, Madame Deville wrestled with her novel and eventually her first chapters were finished, ready to be sent to her agent and publisher, as was the custom.
Writers block was again setting in, but Madame Deville need not have worried. Chantelle was on hand to provide some prompts.
Thursday evening of the second week, Chantelle sat in the comfort of the drawing room, relaxing with a glass of wine while pondered her next move. Madame Deville, having finished cleaning in the kitchen, joined her maid.
“Take a seat, JANE.”
Madame Deville having spent the week referring to her maid Chantelle as Mistress, offered her deference without hesitation.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Chantelle smiled she had read through the manuscripts, and noticed all the recent scribbles and crossings-out.
“So your novel; how is it proceeding?”
“I am sure you will have had much to add, being the maid this week, while sleeping in the maid’s quarters, wearing a maid’s uniform at all times, waiting on your maid, referring to her as your Mistress, being taken to your mistress’s bed for her pleasure.”
Madame Deville blushed at the reminder, that it was now she who was pleasuring her maid between the sheets, as and when it was demanded of her.
“Yes, I seem to have exhausted those aspects now, and I’m struggling to find a reason why the Mistress would continue to do it. How the maid could continue to keep the upper hand?”
“I must find some more twists for the novel, but what? What?”
Chantelle extended an envelope to Madame Deville.
“I’m sure we can come up with something, but this came for you today.”
Madame Deville eagerly took the letter recognizing it was from her agent in London.
Madame Deville’s eyes sparkled, reading the text out loud.
Dear Madame Deville,
WOW! What a start to your novel! The best yet, the seduction so erotic, so real, a Mistress accepting to be the maid of her own maid, fooling the visitors – classic! It is as if you were actually there! Where do you find your inspiration? And written from the Mistress’ prospective, it’s genius… brilliant! This is going to be a bestseller. I knew our advance would be money well spent. I cannot wait for the next chapters. Keep up the great work!
PS. Please find enclosed your stage payment cheque, as agreed.
Madame Deville forgetting her agreed protocols, grabbed Chantelle and gave her a hug.
“Oh thank you, Chantelle! I could not have done this without you! You are my inspiration!”
Chantelle drew back and smiled, and rolled her Machiavellian dice.
“Mmmmmmmmm… well it was fun. I have enjoyed being the Mistress for a while. I guess we can get back to normality now.”
Madame Deville was visibly shocked.
“What? What do you mean? No, we can’t stop now! It’s going to be a best seller, my agent says. So we must continue.”
Chantelle stood and smiled.
“I’m hearing you, right? You want to continue being my maid? That’s impossible!”
“I’m finding it very difficult being your Mistress. I am not sure. Perhaps we should just go back to how we were.”
Madame Deville needed this novel, and knew that Chantelle was drawing from her some of her best writing. She had to continue, whatever that took.
“Please, Chantelle. You have all the luxuries of my manor house. Surely that is no hardship!”
With a meek expression and doe eyes, Madame Deville dropped a curtsy spreading her skirts.
“Do I not make a good maid, Mistress?”
Chantelle hid her delight, seeing and hearing her Mistress confirming her wish to remain as her maid.
“Well, if you insist. I must admit that I do have some ideas for your novel, which I think will work, but to give you the true feelings of the experience so that it transposes well onto the page, I will surprise you.”
“But if we are to do this and so that we understand each other clearly, you agree to continue being my maid under the rules of the household, the rules you compiled yourself?”
Madame Deville, still excited that her agent had praised her writing, and a best seller in the making, stepped back and smiled, knowing that being Chantelle’s maid was the cornerstone of her successful writing.
“Yes, that’s right, of course – under the rules for the maid here!”
Chantelle smirked, asking for her glass to be filled, which Madame Deville dutifully did. Chantelle running her finger around the rim of her glass, stared at her maid with a glow of satisfaction, that was hard to hide. Then she sat back into her chair and sipped on her wine.
Madame Deville was curious as to what these ideas could be, but with Chantelle agreeing to continue has her Mistress, she was sure whatever Chantelle had planned, it would continue to draw the best from her for her book.
A meaningful curtsy dropped, Madame Deville sought to be excused.
“Will that be all this evening, Mistress?”
Chantelle hid her smirk.
“Yes, Jane, you may go to your quarters.”
The next morning, Madame Deville, as was her routine, served tea to her mistress then prepared breakfast before going about her cleaning duties. Madame Deville had kept house herself whilst between maids so she was familiar with the tasks required. Although never dressed as a maid prior, it was a small sacrifice, given her novel was going to be a best seller.
Just before eleven o’clock, Chantelle slipped into one of Madame Deville’s fur coats and smiled at Madame Deville, whom was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the hallway floor.
“Jane, take off your apron. We are going to town. Put on this coat of mine.”
Madame Deville stood and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Town? But should I not get ready, my hair, and makeup, and get changed out of this maid's dress?”
“But why would you do that? Is that what you will write in your novel, that your Mistress allowed you to go to town dressed as though you were still the Mistress yourself?”
“I don’t think so, do you?”
Madame Deville was filled with nervous anticipation and apprehension, her research was supposed to be taking place in the privacy of her own home. What had Chantelle planned for her? Madame Deville’s own maid taking her out in public as her maid, but where was she to be taken?
The novel was developing well, and it was the feelings that Chantelle was instilling within Madame Deville, that was allowing her to write so eloquently. She could not stop now, especially having been the one to insist on the continuation of their role-reversal, just the previous evening, could she?
Madame Deville meekly curtsied.
Chantelle smiled, giving herself a liberal spray of Madame Deville’s exclusive perfume.
“That’s better. Now put on this coat. You will go as you are.”
Madame Deville pushed her arms into the shabby coat offered by Chantelle. She knew she shouldn’t, but given she rarely left the manor anyway, no one would recognize her. She had spent years protecting her privacy.
Arriving in town, Chantelle strode with her head high, her heels clicking along the pavement, with Madame Deville shuffling behind her.
Madame Deville stood frozen when Chantelle turned to climb the few steps into the bank… her bank!
“What are you doing? Why are we at my bank?”
Chantelle scowled at Madame Deville.
“Shut up, and get inside, girl.”
Madame Deville stared in astonishment at Chantelle. Had she just scolded her, told her to shut up, and called her ‘girl’?
Into the bank, Chantelle walked briskly to the reception desk, and announced herself as Madame Deville.
The teller stared at Chantelle questioningly at first, then smiled.
“Madame Deville, of course! ’Sorry, I did not recognize you, but I would never forget that perfume of yours… La blanco fleur, as I remember?”
“That’s right, La blanco fleur.”
The teller continued.
“The last time you visited the branch was some time ago. We’ve had a new manager since then. Would you like to meet her?”
Chantelle deliberately turned to Madame Deville, and smiled as she spoke.
“Yes, I would be pleased to meet the new manager.”
Madame Deville was inwardly incensed, frustrated, and angry, seeing her maid confidently and successfully impersonating her. But as those feelings raged within her, she stood mute, her mind already concentrating on how she would record this situation, and these feeling she had, into her novel.
The smartly dressed manager entered the floor of the bank from her office and approached Chantelle.
“Madame Deville, what a pleasure it is to meet you! This is an honor! Our most famous and reclusive customer; I meet you at last.”
“If I may say, I was expecting someone a little older… But you look fabulous! ’Much younger than I had imagined!”
Chantelle forced a blush at the compliment. Of course, she looked young for her age. She was some ten years younger than Madame Deville.
“Why thank you! I do take care of myself.”
The manager smiled and held out her hand.
“Jane Preston – I’m manager here at Longs Bank. Please, won’t you come to my office?”
Madame Deville was relieved when Chantelle declined the invitation, but stared dumbfounded as Chantelle made a moderate withdrawal, signing her name on the mandate, a perfect copy of Madame Deville’s own signature? If that was a shock in itself… when Chantelle agreed to sign a copy of the teller’s novel that she was currently reading, with the promise to sign further copies if she had some, Madame Deville silently screamed in frustrated desperation.
Having left the bank, Madame Deville pulled on Chantelle’s sleeve.
“You can’t do that! Doing this in my home is one thing, even being out in public… but at my bank?!”
Chantelle smirking, casually stroked Madam Deville’s hand from her wrist.
“Can’t I? I just did, and you had to just stand there. How did that make you feel… your maid being accepted, as if I were you? Remember, it was you who wanted to remain as my maid.”
Madame Deville looked at the smartly attired and confident Chantelle.
Chantelle was right. She had convinced the staff in the bank that she was Madame Deville, and she had not stopped the charade. The feelings she had felt could never have been imagined, the feelings that she will be able to use in her novel.
“But the money you withdrew, what is that for?”
“Come, Jane, I will show you.”
Just three streets away stood the clothing store specializing in work wear where Madame Deville had sent Chantelle to purchase her uniforms when she had started work as Madame Deville’s maid.
Madame Deville had never visited the store, but recognized the sign above the shop as they approached, and realizing what Chantelle had in mind, begged her not to enter.
“Please no, not this. Please don’t take me in there… please.”
The ping of the door bell heralded the entrance of the well dressed Chantelle, and the dowdy Madame Deville. Despite her remonstrations, Chantelle had Madame Deville inside the store.
A stern looking lady strode from behind the counter looking Madame Deville up and down, then turned with a smile to Chantelle; not recognizing her as the women who had visited previously.
“Good day Madame, Madame Deville, I presume? I received your message saying that you would be calling. Uniforms for your maid, I understand?”
“That’s right. My maid, Jane, has been wearing used uniforms during her probation. They are not the best fit as you can see. She has proved to be a good maid, and deserves to have her own uniforms now.”
Madame Deville blushed bright red, her eyes pleading with Chantelle, as the lady removed her coat and started to take her measurements.
Stripped to her underwear, Madame Deville was used as a mannequin, being dressed in the various uniform options in front of Chantelle. Staying with the traditional style that Madame Deville herself had demanded of her maid, purchases were made.
Carrying her neatly wrapped uniforms in a heavy parcel, Madame Deville left the store almost in tears at her humiliation.
Chantelle stopped at the end of the street and turned to Madame Deville.
“I said I would make it real for you, and when we get back to the manor and you continue with your novel, when it is a bestseller as your agent suggested, you will thank me for all this.”
“This is not easy for me, you know. Now pick up those feet, wipe those tears and follow me, girl.”
Madame Deville stared into Chantelle’s confident eyes. She was right. She could never have imagined what the humiliating experience in the clothing store could have been like had she not felt the shame of being stripped to her underwear in front of that women, and treated with such disdain, treated as a common maid.
Back at the manor house, Madame Deville was told to dress in one of her own new uniforms by Chantelle, before serving afternoon tea for her Mistress.
Chantelle smiled and complimented Madame Deville, who entered with her tray while wearing her new uniform. A much better fit than those of Chantelle’s old uniforms, and the apron now bibbed, was full length and with a generous lace trim.
“ ’Much better, Jane, and more comfortable for you. I would suggest having your own uniforms rather than my old ones, and that bibbed apron with the lace trim, is much more in keeping for a house maid, don’t you think?”
Madame Deville smoothed down her apron, and found she was agreeing with Chantelle.
“Yes, the uniform is much better but, but....”
Chantelle sat forward in her chair.
“But what, Jane, tell me?”
Madame Deville cleared her throat before speaking.
“Well today, Chantelle… ’sorry, I mean Mistress, the bank… They will think that you are me?”
Chantelle sat back and smiled.
“And? You never go to the bank! What does it matter what they think you look like?”
Madame Deville pondered Chantelle’s response. She was right. It didn’t matter really. All her dealings with the bank were done by letter, and she could never have known those emotions had she had not experienced them herself.
“Well yes, I suppose you are right. But the uniforms…? Why buy new uniforms and underwear for me? How long will I be wearing them anyway?”
Chantelle again made light of the question.
“Jane, you told me last night that you wanted to continue to be my maid, in order to complete your novel. And have you finished the novel yet? No? So why shouldn’t I have my maid wear her very own pretty uniforms?”
True, Madame Deville had asked to continue to be Chantelle’s maid, but the tone of Chantelle’s words, emphasizing that she will have her maid wearing her very own pretty uniforms, had Madame Deville feeling a submissive weakness spread through her. No longer would she be wearing Chantelle’s tight fitting worn garments with the waist tie apron that would always have had a temporary feel to them. The uniforms that Madame Deville will now wear, will be her very own maid’s attire, complete with a full length bibbed apron, the whole ensemble fitting her perfectly.
Madame Deville curtsied, which splayed the now tiered petticoats beneath the more generous skirts of her dress.
“Sorry, Mistress, you are right to have your maid dress in her very own pretty uniforms.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Chantelle chuckled, her Mistress having willingly cocooned herself in her very own uniform. And with her new uniforms, they would emphasize the subordinate and submissive role that Madame Deville was to completely internalize, and fully embrace as her own, before her accepted mistress, Chantelle.
“Why don’t you go to the study and continue your writing. I am sure I have given you much inspiration to keep that pen flowing, have I not?”
Madame Deville, her mind already reflecting on the day of humiliation that she had experienced, which in truth she had Chantelle to thank for, instinctively dropped a curtsy.
“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress.”
“Chantelle smiled, watching her maid leave for the study, her heavy shiny new shoes clomping on the wooden floor under the swirl of her skirts and apron.
With more manuscripts posted to her agent during the week, Madame Deville awaited the response, and a further advance.
That evening, Chantelle had Madame Deville set up her manicuring table. Tonight it would not be Chantelle working on Madame Deville’s fine fingers, but Madame Deville who would be the manicurist for her former maid, now mistress.
Chantelle smiled as Madame Deville worked on her nails.
“This will no doubt help you with your novel. Your maid having you manicure her nails, whilst your own nails become split and broken with your arduous work as her maid?”
Madame Deville, her persona as a maid becoming more ingrained, responded.
During the week that followed, amongst the mail was the distinctive envelope from Madame Deville’s agent, and Madame Deville carrying the mail towards her study was eager to open it.
Sat at her desk, she peeled open the envelope and removed the letter inside. Madame Deville read the text and with a warm glow of satisfaction radiating through her, she turned to see Chantelle, who stood in the doorway.
“Chantelle, sorry… I mean Mistress. Please read this; it’s from my agent.”
Chantelle smiled, taking the letter from Madame Deville.
Dear Madame Deville,
I don’t know how you are writing this, but keep at it. It’s fantastic! The whole story is so real, the bank, the new uniforms, classic subjugation of a mistress by her maid, and the sex -- WOW! ’So vivid. Your writing is the best yet. It’s like it’s all really happening. All the girls in the office cannot wait to see what happens to the Mistress next, and how this story unfolds.
Eagerly await your further chapters.
P.S. The second advance cheque is enclosed.
Chantelle handed the letter back to Madame De Ville and smiled.
“Well, who is a clever girl then?”
Madame Deville took the letter and read through it again.
“Yes, but I could not have written this without your help, Chan... Mistress.”
Chantelle sat down opposite Madame Deville.
“Well, we had better continue towards the conclusion of your novel then.”
Madame Deville anxious to know what Chantelle had planned for her, hung on Chantelle’s every word, her expression slowly turning from an expectant smile to one of concern, as Chantelle spoke.
“I suggest you continue waiting on your Mistress. It will let you feel the true emotions of hopelessness, helplessness, desperation, entrapment. Feeling yourself powerless to prevent your maid slowly stripping away your dignity and possessions, having you willingly accept your new life as your maid’s maid, in your own home.”
Madame Deville looked at Chantelle, her words having sent a cold shiver through her, yet a warm wetness into her knickers. The way she spoke, was it as if Chantelle really planned to slowly coerce Jane into becoming her permanent maid?
Chantelle continued in the soft seductive tone that had at first enticed her Mistress to her bed.
“Is that what you want from your Mistress, Jane?”
Madame Deville’s mind raced. It was true that it was the raw emotion spilling out onto the pages of her novel, driven by Chantelle, that was exciting her agent, making it a best seller. How Chantelle had described the eventual demise of the mistress, Chantelle was right. There was no way Madame Deville could even contemplate how that would feel without actually experiencing it.
Madame Deville took a sip of water.
Chantelle smiled, seeing that Madame Deville had easily acquiesced to her monumental suggestion. Jane had crossed the Rubicon; there could hardly be a turning back.
“This will be difficult for me, as you can imagine, but I will of course, continue to do my best to help you feel those emotions that are helping you with your writing.”
“So JANE… Is that how it will be?”
Madame Deville stood from her chair, her pulse racing. Was she about to commit to continue being Chantelle’s maid, even after what she had just described? Of course, she was, and when her novel was complete, she would return to being Chantelle’s Mistress, wouldn’t she?
Lowering her head Madame Deville thumbed her skirts and curtsied.
“Good, then we shall begin your full and complete transformation into becoming my house maid in the morning.”
Madame Deville already feeling a different dynamic between herself and her maid Chantelle, curtsied.”
“Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress.”
That night in the cramped maid’s quarters, Madame Deville played her clitoris to orgasm at the prospect and imaginings of what Chantelle had planned for her. With Chantelle’s last words haunting her, did this truly mean a full and complete societal reduction of her Mistress becoming Chantelle’s house maid?
The following morning when Madame Deville took her Mistress her morning tea, Chantelle was already dressed. A number of stuffed bin bags were stacked by the door.
“Put the tray on the nightstand, then take these bags to the hallway by the door.”
Madame Deville stared questioningly at the bulging bags.
“Mistress, the bags… what’s inside them?”
“They contain clothes, Jane… your clothes, dresses, suits, jackets and skirts from my closet. I have arranged for them to be altered so they fit my figure.”
Madame Deville opened the top of one of the bags, her finest clothing folded neatly into the bag.
“But why? These are my clothes, some of which, if not all, are my best things.”
Chantelle smirked at a disturbed looking Madame Deville.
“Why? Why? You have your new maid’s uniforms that I arranged for you, that fit you perfectly! Do you expect your Mistress to struggle to find something to wear, something that fits? I cannot keep wearing the same outfits now, can I?”
Madame Deville felt angry, frustrated, and powerless, and reflected on what Chantelle had told her the previous evening when she agreed to continue being Chantelle’s maid. These were the very emotions she would need for her book, and was already constructing in her mind how this experience would transpose onto the pages of her novel.
Madame Deville lowered her gaze and curtsied.
“Sorry, Mistress… I will take away the bags.”
Chantelle sipped on her tea and smiled.
“Good… then after breakfast, we will go into town. And Jane, I will forgive you this time, but don’t question me again. Do you understand?”
Madame Deville curtsied.
“Sorry, Mistress, yes, Mistress.”
Later that morning, having arrived in town, Chantelle, introducing herself as Madame Deville, spoke with the seamstress, whilst Madame Deville in her dowdy maids dress humped her own clothing into the high end dress shop for alteration to fit her former maid, now her Mistress, Chantelle.
Madame Deville stood silent as her Maid Chantelle finalized with the seamstress the details of the alterations required of Madame Deville’s own expensive wardrobe.
Under the guise of helping with her novel, Chantelle was not finished with the day’s humiliation and increasing control of Madame Deville.
Outside the bank they had visited previously, Chantelle handed Madame Deville the advance payment cheque Madame Deville had received from her agent.
“Go and pay this into the account, Jane.”
Madame Deville gulped.
“But Mistress, please must I?”
Chantelle glared at Madame Deville.
“I warned you this morning not to question me! Now get into the bank and pay that cheque into the account!”
Madame Deville her legs wobbly, having been admonished by her maid in public on the steps of the bank, turned and gathering her skirts climbed the few steps to the bank’s entrance. Her heart racing, Madame Deville approached the back of the queue in front of the teller and shuffled forward. Her turn at the window getting ever closer, she felt faint, short of breath, her palms sweating when a shrill voice called her forward.
Madame Deville pushed the cheque under the glass window, lowering her gaze.
“A deposit for Madame Deville’s account.”
The teller smiled.
“You are Jane, aren’t you? Madame Deville’s maid? I saw you the other week when your Mistress came to see us? ’Quite a surprise for us all, as your Mistress rarely visits the bank.”
What could she say? Madame Deville froze momentarily, then looked up at the smiling teller.
“Yes, that’s right. I am Madame Deville’s maid.”
The Teller banged her stamp on the deposit cheque, and slid through a receipt, her fixed smile not slipping.
“Thank you Jane. Give the receipt to your Mistress.”
It was a smiling Chantelle who took the receipt from Madame Deville. Madame Deville, had been recognized by the teller, not as Madame Deville, but as Jane, Madame Deville’s maid.
“Good girl, Jane! Come, I have a treat for you.”
Madame Deville wrestled with her emotions as she was led in anonymity along the pavement. Whilst Chantelle, finely dressed as she was, received many admiring looks, her dowdy maid was not given a second look.
Stopping outside the beauty salon, Chantelle smiled.
“Here we are! In you go, girl!”
At first Madame Deville hesitated, but knew she must do has her Mistress told her. She had agreed to all this for her research, and entered the salon.
Greeted by a gushing receptionist, Chantelle introduced herself again as Madame Deville, and confirmed her appointment with the receptionist.
Madame Deville had never visited beauty salons, having taken care of her own hair and nails. She thought the whole concept was a waste of money, and the chit-chat frivolous. Her hair style was not much different to when she was a girl… blonde medium to long in length, self-trimmed to be manageable, and as when she was inclined.
The receptionist looked disparagingly at Madame Deville in her new but plain maid’s dress.
“I have hair for your maid, and a manicure and pedicure for yourself, Madame Deville?”
“Yes, that’s right. I had my maid Jane work on my nails, but less than adequate, as you can see.”
Two bright, smiling beauticians arrived and approached Chantelle.
“Madame Deville, how nice it is to meet you! Not every day we have a famous author in our salon. I am Lucy. I will be doing your manicure and pedicure, and this is our apprentice stylist, Jenny, whom will be looking after your maid.”
Chantelle seeing the obvious nervous apprehension of Madame Deville smiled.
“Jane, go with Jenny.”
Chantelle pampered to her chair sat back in clear view of Madame Deville being dumped in front of a sink and mirror at the back of the salon. Whilst the chatty Lucy crafted Chantelle’s nails, Jenny, not happy that she had been allocated a maid’s hair to style, roughly began following her instructions. Madame Deville sat distraught as the girl lopped her hair into a short neat bob before applying a black dye.
She wanted to scream, run out of the salon, hide, stop this nonsense, but they were just the feelings she had craved to portray in her novel, the feelings her maid Chantelle had promised her she would feel. She had to see this through.
Chantelle chuckled seeing the expression on the shorn Madame Deville’s face as the apprentice stylist presented her maid in front of her.
“This is how you requested, Madame Deville, a short bob and dyed black?”
Chantelle admired her expertly manicured nails before looking at Madame Deville, and smiled.
“Show your appreciation, JANE!”
Madame Deville knew what she had to do, and bit her lip as she curtsied in front of the young apprentice, whom had chopped her fine blonde locks and dyed her hair into the style of a working girl.
“Thank you, Miss.”
Out of the salon and back at the manor house, Madame Deville stopped by the door and turned to Chantelle, running her fingers through her short cropped hair.
“Why have you done this to me? The clothes I understand, but my hair and the bank? Why?”
“Why? Why? Again you question your Mistress.”
“Because you now look more like the maid you are! My maid! A working girl's style is much more fitting for you! The bank? The cheque needed to be deposited, and I wanted you to feel what it was like to queue and wait to be served, treated as the maid you are. Remember, I’m doing all this for your novel.”
Chantelle put her manicured finger under Madame Deville’s chin.
“Now that is three times you have questioned your Mistress, and it will be the last time. Any more of your insolence, and you will be punished! ’You understand?!”
Madame Deville squirmed submissively under the tirade of her maid. Chantelle was right. The hair-style did make her look and feel more like a working girl. The experience in the bank was excruciating, but those feelings… they were what she had been promised by Chantelle.
Entering the manor, Chantelle dismissed Madame Deville to the study, to work on her book, and spent the afternoon sorting through and admiring Madame Deville’s extensive collection of jewelry.
That evening, having had the now talented and practiced tongue of her maid satisfy her lesbian lust, Chantelle read through Madame Deville’s latest musings for her novel, while Madame Deville continued to lap and lick lazily between her Mistress’ thighs.
The planned alteration of her own clothes, the episode in the bank, the chopping and dye of her fine blonde locks into a working girl’s hairstyle, were all there in the writings. But what drew Chantelle’s attention and made her giggle was the reference that Madame Deville had made to the threat of punishments, so eloquently written towards the end of the manuscript
Her maid having warned of punishments to follow any further transgression Lady Langworth ran her fingers through what remained of her cropped hair and stole herself at the thought of what those punishments would be and not if but when they would be administered.
Chantelle raised a bleary eyed Madame Deville by her chin, from between her legs and smiled.
“Back to your quarters now, Jane, and take your writings with you. They are very good, very informative.”
Madame Deville, reluctant to leave the glistening pussy of her Mistress that she had so pleasurably worshipped, worked her way from the bed, taking the sheaf of papers from Chantelle, and pleased with the compliment she had been paid.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Chantelle hid her delight when Madame Deville stopped and turned at the door.
“Thank you, I could not have written what I have without you. What you are doing with me and to me, I am really starting to feel like a maid, like Lady Langworth in my book, like you said I would.”
“Of course you are, Jane. Of course you are! That’s what we both want, isn’t it?”
“Now off to bed. Tea at seven in the morning, that’s a good girl.”
One last curtsy dropped by Madame Deville.
And she was gone.
Days of mundane household tasks followed for Madame Deville, punctuated with the afternoons writing, whilst Chantelle enjoyed the comforts of Madame Deville’s manor.
When the doorbell chimed, Madame Deville left her writing and answered the door. The manager of the dress shop stood stern faced, carrying armfuls of neatly pressed clothing. Madame Deville’s clothing altered to Chantelle’s requirements.
Chantelle was soon behind Madame Deville and smiled, seeing her order so quickly undertaken.
The shop manager’s demeanor changed, seeing the elegant Madame Deville who stood behind her plain looking maid.
“Madame Deville, your altered wardrobe.”
Without a word, the lady placed the clothing into the arms of Madame Deville’s maid.
Chantelle beckoned the shop manager inside and told her maid to take the clothing to her closets, which she dutifully did.
With Madame Deville serving tea to Chantelle and her guest, the shop manager waxed lyrical about Madame Deville’s novels that she had read, and what a pleasure it was to be of service to the famous author Madame Deville. Chantelle basked in the outpouring of flattery, whilst Madame Deville, although pleased with the complimentary comments of her writings was again faced with the excruciating frustrations of Chantelle, her maid, successfully reinforcing with the dress shop manager that she was actually Madame Deville.
Later that day, when Chantelle entered her bed chamber and opened the closet to inspect and review the wide array of Madame Deville's altered clothing, she stood back and screamed for her maid.
“JANE, come here at once!!”
The closet contained only a small selection of Madame Deville’s re-tailored outfits.
Madame Deville entered the bedroom and curtsied.
Chantelle glared at Madame Deville.
“Where are the remainder of my clothes, Jane?”
Madame Deville looked a little sheepish, sensing Chantelle’s displeasure.
“Mistress, I did not think that you would require all of my outfits. I have placed the other items in the side closet, ready to be altered back to fit me.”
Chantelle whilst incensed knew this would be the opportunity she needed.
“Indeed, you did you girl!”
Chantelle with angry eyes, which made Madame Deville cower back, shouted at Madame Deville.
“So you thought to deprive your Mistress of her clothes? Well, now I will deprive you of yours!”
“I told you anymore insubordination would be punished! Strip, girl!! Everything off! Now!!”
Madame Deville hesitated, and Chantelle repeated her command.
“Get your uniform and underwear off now!! You know the rules! Obey your Mistress!”
Madame Deville filled with feelings even she would struggle to describe, like a child being berated by her mother. Chantelle was right. She had agreed to follow her rules. She must obey her Mistress. Slowly she removed her apron, then dress and underwear, until stood naked in front of Chantelle, her maid, her Mistress.
“Now place those garments you chose to hide from me in my closet! And you; you will remain naked until I decide otherwise!”
As Madame Deville gathered the first of the garments, Chantelle gave Madame Deville’s flopping buttocks a sharp slap of encouragement.
Madame Deville in a state of distress squealed.
“Sorry, Mistress, sorry! I deserve to be punished.”
Chantelle noticing an excited wetness budding between Madame Deville’s legs delivered a further slap.
“Yes, you do girl!”
The second slap bringing not a squeal, but a soft sigh, and Chantelle seizing her moment, pushed the naked Madame Deville over the edge of the bed, and berating her maid, commenced to lay slap after slap onto her reddening cheeks.
The ignominy of stripping naked for and being slapped by her maid, whilst suffering a tirade of admonishment for her transgression, left a tearful yet aroused Madame Deville placing the remainder of her adjusted clothing neatly into the closet.
For the next two days, Madame Deville was kept naked, forbidden by Chantelle from wearing any clothing whatsoever, and to her own surprise as well as Chantelle’s, Madame Deville meekly complied. Chantelle ensuring her maid’s backside was slapped for any further questioning of her authority.
Chantelle, having read through Madame Deville’s most recent chapter, called Madame Deville to the drawing room following dinner on the second evening of her nakedness.
“I have read your latest writings, very interesting and quite revealing, if I may say so”
Madame Deville blushed and Chantelle continued.
“What you have written about your spanking and being kept naked by your mistress, it appears to have inspired some very creative writing from you.”
Madame Deville’s discomfort showed and her blushing grew more pronounced.
“Not a totally unpleasant experience for my maid, from what I have read?”
“Let me read what you have written.”
Having had me strip myself naked in front of her for my misdemeanor I found myself aroused and she knew it. The first slaps made me squeal and squirm but feeling my maid’s, my Mistresses, firm grip and her palm rhythmically slap my bare buttocks my arousal grew. I had done wrong, I deserved to be punished, I wanted to be punished. To reinforce my maid’s subjugation of me I am to be kept naked for my humiliation and her pleasure; my buttocks now invitingly displayed for further punishment which are delivered with increasing regularity at the whim of my Mistress.
Chantelle placed the manuscript onto the table and smiled.
“Well, I have read how Lady Langworth felt in your novel, but is that how you felt? Is it Jane? Were you aroused?”
Madame Deville knew Chantelle had witnessed her arousal and spoke in not much more than an embarrassed whisper. It was true they were her inner feelings that her nakedness could not hide from Chantelle’s tantalizing taunt. She had been aroused and knew she was becoming aroused again.
Chantelle sat back in her chair and smirked.
“O dear, and what are we going to do about that?”
“My maid likes, wants to be punished by her Mistress, finding it arousing.”
Chantelle stood and sipped on her wine surveying the naked form of Madame Deville.
Madame Deville’s buttocks tensed as Chantelle, having replaced her glass on the table, slowly walked menacingly behind her.
Madame Deville whimpered when the first slap stung against her tensed flesh. Madame Deville needed no encouragement when told to lean forward over the arm of the sofa and Chantelle obliged the invitation, spanking Madame Deville until the tension was slapped from Madame Deville’s ass cheeks, which finally hung limp, floppy and crimson.
Chantelle returned to her chair, filling her glass and watched Madame Deville wince pulling herself upright.
“Well girl, thank your Mistress for your punishment.”
Madame Deville, her pussy streaming, stared teary eyed at Chantelle.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Chantelle smiled at her naked maid, the signature of her arousal from her spanking, trickling down her inner thighs.
“Tomorrow, you may return to wearing your uniform, Jane.”
“But there will be no more insubordination. So let us just confirm again whose clothes hang in my closet.”
“Well, Jane, tell me.”
Madame Deville squirmed naked in front of Chantelle, feeling weak and powerless, having had her maid spank her.
“They are yours, Mistress.”
Chantelle stood and walking in front of Madame Deville squeezed one of her hardened nipples.
“And your clothes, Jane, where are your clothes?”
Madame Deville sighed to Chantelle’s firm stimulating grip of her nipple.
“In my quarters, Mistress… My uniforms are in my maid’s quarters.”
Chantelle staring into Madame Deville’s eyes, let her thumb teasingly linger, rubbing and rolling across Madame Deville’s engorged nipple.
“So we are agreed! The only clothes you own in this house are your maid’s uniforms, and all the other clothing belongs to me, your Mistress.”
Madame Deville’s eyes rolled her knees weak and, feeling Chantelle’s fingers from her other hand press into her wetness with her thumb at her clit, sighed.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yes, Mistress, yes, all yours! All Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yours!”
Madame Deville was up late that night scribbling page after page until she had caught the full essence of her degradation by her maid, the further spanking, her submission to her maid’s touch, the unconditional acceptance that her wardrobe of fine clothes was no longer hers, but belonged to her maid.
Madame Deville stood sticky from her chair, the seat cushion drenched from the excitement of her writings, the reliving of her experience so vivid, so real.
Madame Deville following two days of being kept naked was genuinely pleased to be dressed again the following morning. Never giving a thought that it was none of her fine clothes, but a maid’s uniform in which so eagerly adorned herself, her very own maid’s uniform.
The days that followed began as was normal now for Madame Deville. It was tea in bed for her Mistress, then breakfast served, before preparing the laundry and going about her cleaning duties. Madame Deville’s routine as house maid now well established her only respite was her writing in the evenings.
With more manuscripts posted to her agent, the novel was reaching its conclusion. A few more chapters and it would be finished.
As Madame Deville went about her maid's duties, over the coming days which turned into weeks, she was struggling to find a suitable ending to her potential best seller.
Chantelle appeared in the kitchen mid-morning to find Madame Deville peeling and preparing vegetables for her Mistress’ lunch.
Madame Deville instinctively curtsied.
Chantelle chuckled at Madame Deville’s unthinking deference to her.
“I notice that your writings seem to have hit the buffers, Jane, almost two weeks now and nothing new to show?”
Madame Deville wearily raised a smile.
“Yes, Mistress, it’s just the ending really, it will come, it must do.”
Chantelle produced an envelope that had been delivered from Madame Deville’s agent.
“This came in the post today. Why don’t you take your break and come up to the study.”
Sitting in the study, Madame Deville read through the correspondence and sighed.
Chantelle took the letter and read through it herself.
“O dear, we will have to get our skates on, won’t we Jane?”
“The publisher is pushing for the final copy needing to meet the agreed printing deadline?”
“Not all bad news though. They are hinting at a sequel from you.”
Madame Deville looked across at Chantelle.
“A week? One week to finish the novel? That’s ridiculous!”
“I am struggling to find a way that Lady Langworth could ever regain her status as the Mistress in her own home. Since her seduction, she has been slowly and willingly taken down a one way path to her subjugation by her maid.” When I have reprised what her maid has done to her, I am finding it hard to see a way out for the heiress.”
“And a sequel? A sequel?"
Madame Deville put her head in her hands.
Chantelle walked behind the distraught Madame Deville.
“Don’t worry. I have an idea to get those emotions stimulated and those concluding chapters finished, and I am sure it will leave an opening for your sequel. Would you like me to organize that for you, JANE?”
Madame Deville sat up wiping her tears on her apron and looked questioningly at Chantelle, wondering if she was considering a similar ending to herself, but of course she wasn’t.
Madame Deville gave a forlorn sigh.
“You have done so much for me already. Look at me! Never mind Lady Langworth. I am just a maid myself. You have me dressed in my very own uniform. You have me looking like a maid and working like one, let alone what you have me doing in your bed. My feelings are now as a maid, and not as a Mistress. ’No wonder I cannot think how the Mistress would feel any longer.”
Chantelle smirked and stroked her fingers delicately at the nape of Madame Deville’s neck.
“That’s good that you now truly feel like my maid, Jane. They are the feelings that have enabled you to write your best seller and what I have in mind will cement all those feelings within you and your book can be finished.”
Her fingers continuing to tease, Chantelle leaned forward close to Madame Deville’s ear and spoke in a soft seductive whisper.
“Why should the Mistress escape the clutches of her maid? Imagine the Mistress’ home and everything within it, including herself becoming the permanent possessions of her maid. That would be the perfect conclusion to your novel, don’t you think, JANE?”
Madame Deville squirmed to Chantelle’s touch and soft words she had to finish the novel. Madame Deville had been struggling to see how the Mistress could regain her status. Chantelle had opened up a totally different direction, and it made sense. She had been blind. Of course, that would be a much better ending, and Chantelle was right. It would lead the way perfectly to a sequel.
“Yes, of course, that would be perfect. Thank you, Mistress. I will start writing this evening.”
Madame Deville looked up at Chantelle, her smile turning to a frown.
“But how could I possibly write that? Thanks to you, I have mimicked everything in the novel so far. Only this research has brought the novel to this point. Slack writing now would ruin it. It would never be a best seller. The ending is critical. I must make it real for the reader.”
“Don’t worry. Have I let you down this far?”
“What I have in mind will ensure your writing will be real enough for your readers. So we are agreed that the Mistress will now become the property of her maid.”
Madame Deville pulled her apron and heavy skirts around herself and stood.
“Well, yes, but how I will feel those emotions to be able to write that I do not know?”
Chantelle straightened Madame Deville’s cap and placed a pecked kiss to her cheek.
“You leave that to me. I know just what to do.”
Three days later early in the afternoon, the doorbell summoned Madame Deville to the door. A gentleman and a smartly dressed girl stood on the threshold.
The couple smiled at the perfectly attired maid answering the door.
“We are here to see your mistress, Madame Deville.”
“Mr. Sutton and Miss Jackson from the lawyers Frobisher and Crown… Tell Madame Deville we are here.”
Chantelle appeared in the hallway.
“Good afternoon! ’So glad you could make it at such short notice. Please come through to the study.”
Chantelle smiled at Madame Deville.
“You may join us, Jane.”
Madame Deville curtsied.
Two chairs had been set at the front of Madame Deville’s desk at which the two visitors sat. Chantelle sat behind the desk, leaving Madame Deville standing.
The gentleman lawyer looked Madame Deville up and down then turned back to Chantelle.
“So Madame Deville, you wish to formalize an agreement with your maid Jane. Is that correct?”
Madame Deville stared at Chantelle, who sat comfortably in her chair, while wearing one of Madame Deville’s beautiful silk suits.
“That’s right. It’s more for the protection of my maid Jane than for myself. You understand a contract will ensure she has a secure and permanent employment here.”
Madame Deville wanted to stop this masquerade there and then. A contract? What was Chantelle thinking? But then she realized this was all part of Chantelle’s efforts to help her finish her novel. The feelings she had running through her of the hopelessness of her situation. She was helpless, and powerless to stop her maid Chantelle from officially taking her into her service as her maid. It was making her wet. It was just the inspiration she needed for her novel.
The lawyer was handed a file of papers by his assistant, and he laid them out on the desk.
“Very well, Madame Deville…. I have prepared the documents as you requested. They just require signatures.”
Chantelle smiled, taking a pen from the drawer, ensuring she would be the first to sign.
With a flourish of the hand, the signature scribed a perfect copy of Madame Deville’s own signature, as it had been at the bank.
The lawyer turned to Madame Deville.
“Jane, what is your second name? I do not have it.”
Madame Deville stood looking at the document seeing her own signature already in place under her name, a perfect forgery?
The lawyer repeated his question
“Jane, your second name?”
“Jane does not have a second name. She is just ‘Jane’. Is that a problem?”
Miss Jackson was already removing an ink pad from her brief case
The lawyer took the ink pad and opened it on the desk.
“No problem at all. It is common with maids. Fingerprints will legally confirm Jane’s identity and for completeness, we should have yours, as well, Madame Deville.”
Madame Deville was in a trance. She was about to declare her fingerprints to be that of a maid, maid Jane, and her maid Chantelle was to place her fingerprints under her forged signature. Her hesitation was short lived. The lawyer, taking her wrist then pressed her fingers, one by one, into the inky pad, then onto the document below her scrawled mark of Jane.
Madame Deville was in panic. The color drained from her. What had she done?
The lawyer folded away the documents, and handed a copy of the contract, along with his invoice to Chantelle.
He then turned to a pale, concerned looking Madame Deville.
“A copy for you Jane, and why so sad looking this contract? It’s very generous of Madam Deville. It outlines your duties clearly, and ensures you will remain the maid here for at least the duration of the contract, 12 months. Not many maids will have the protection of such a contract. You are very lucky to have such a kind Mistress. And you will see in clause seven, given your service is acceptable, your Mistress can extend the contact for you indefinitely.”
Madame Deville was in a state of shock. The agreement – was it not almost an identical copy of the one that she had Chantelle sign and agree to, when she became her maid? This cannot be legal. It can’t. She was Madame Deville, wasn’t she? How could she be her own maid?”
Leaving Madame Deville reading the terms of the contract, Chantelle escorted the lawyer and his assistant to the door, and smiled as they made their way down the driveway.
Chantelle returned to the study to find Madame Deville studying the agreement and looking at the business card left by the lawyer and his assistant.
Madame Deville held out the business card.
“He was a real lawyer.”
“All these documents are real. Have I signed myself into my own service?”
“Well, not quite, Jane. ’Not your service. You have signed yourself into the service of Madame Deville.”
“But this is the ending that you wanted for your novel. Have I not made it real for you? It lets you feel the true emotions of the Mistress’ home and everything within it, including herself becoming the possessions of her maid. To ensure this, the Mistress would of course have to willingly sign herself into a legal contract as the maid, which you have done.”
Madame Deville becoming exasperated, looked again at her copy of the contract.
“Yes, but like I say, I am Madame Deville.”
Chantelle pointed to the signatures and fingerprints below to reinforce Madame Deville’s feelings of entrapment.
“No, Jane. Your Mistress is Madame Deville.”
“Of course, if there is any doubt as to whom Madame Deville is we could ask the bank manager, or the ladies from the book club, the manager at the beauty parlor perhaps, or the owner of the store we purchased your uniforms from? What about the dress shop manager? I think that they will all confirm who Madame Deville is don’t you, JANE?”
Madame Deville was speechless and just stared at the document, then at the smiling Chantelle, who continued.
“I suggest you continue with your writing, Jane. Then we can discuss your service as Madame Deville’s maid later.”
Chantelle left the study, leaving Madame Deville alone with her thoughts. Madame Deville sat down at the desk, the realization of what her maid Chantelle had done with her, leaving her in a state of shock… but she had to finish her novel.
Madame Deville’s pen seldom pausing words turned into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into the concluding chapters of her novel her mind in a whirl as the final subjugation of Lady Langworth was described in eloquent detail. The Lady of the manor and all she owned was now in the possession of her maid.
Chantelle returned to the study in the early evening, carrying a tray with cups and saucers and a pot of tea, and sat it down on the desk to find Madame Deville finalizing her copy.
“Well, is it finished? Your novel?”
Madame Deville looked strangely at Chantelle, seeing that she had brought in the tray containing tea.
“Ermmm, yes, yes, I have.”
Chantelle picked up the manuscript and began to read to its conclusion. Madame Deville nervously poured the tea.
When I saw my fingerprints and those of my maid on the Lawyer's agreement I was in a state of panic, I should have screamed torn the agreement to shreds but having been in the persona of my maid’s maid for so long, I humbly accepted what was transpiring, hardly believing the reality of the situation. My maid, as she said she would, had taken over my life, and I hers. It was official and legal. I was now my maid’s maid, and with the documents securely locked in my own safe, now my Mistress’ safe, I had no choice but to accept my fate. My maid was now Lady Langworth, and I her house maid, Jane.
Chantelle placed the last pages of Madame Deville’s novel back onto the desk and accepted the cup of tea from an apprehensive Madame Deville.
“Mmmmmmmm perfect! It’s the perfect ending to your best seller, Jane.”
“You were struggling to find this ending for your best seller. Now tell me, could you have written such an ending, and put so much feeling behind your words had you not gone though becoming your maid’s maid yourself, could you?”
Madame Deville sipped on her tea. Chantelle was right again. The whole book had been driven by the experience of becoming Chantelle's maid. From her initial seduction through to her eventual entrapment into becoming her own maid, she signed herself into the service of Madame Deville, a persona now inhabited by her maid Chantelle.
She had acquiesced at each subtle stage of her subjugation. The seduction – surely the one experience should have been enough, but no. She wanted more. She craved more, wearing Chantelle’s tight fitting uniform to deceive the visitors, allowing herself to be taken between the sheets of her own bed by Chantelle, dressed has her maid, then agreeing to continue wearing the uniform of her maid. Being taken from the house, dressed as the housemaid. The numbness of watching Chantelle impersonate her at the bank and then the ignominy of being fitted for her own maid’s uniforms. At every stage she could have resisted said enough was enough, but her desire to write a bestseller drove her unwittingly deeper into the clutches of her maid.
Allowing and agreeing for Chantelle to alter all her own clothing to fit her, visiting the bank only to be recognized not as Madame Deville but Madame Deville’s house maid JANE. Sitting submissively, whilst her long blonde locks were shorn from her and then allowing her hair to be dyed black. With her own uniforms and her hair in the style of a working girl, not only did she feel like a maid, she looked like one and was increasingly acting as one.
As the weeks rolled on, she watched Chantelle become more and more comfortable in her role of mistress, and herself more accepting to be her maid. The punishments of spankings, being kept naked, what was she thinking? But as with each slow and steady step to her demise, orchestrated by her scheming maid, it allowed her to write graphically to produce a best seller. Now the conclusion to her novel, poignantly narrated in each paragraph, and officially becoming her own maid’s maid, the realization that she was able to write with such feeling, made it so real, because it was real! She was Jane, Madame Deville’s house maid.
Madame Deville looked up briefly at her Mistress Chantelle, then lowered her head without a response to Chantelle’s question.
Chantelle smiled at her subjugated Mistress Madame Deville, now Jane, her confirmed house maid.
“I thought so and all is set up for the sequel you will be writing. And don’t worry about where you will find the inspiration for the sequel.”
Chantelle smirked and held up the signed contract consigning Madame Deville to her new life as Jane, housemaid to Madame Deville.
“Given your service is satisfactory, which I will ensure it is, you will have much to write about as the housemaid of Madame Deville.”
“So do you have any questions, girl?”
Jane stood from her chair and thumbing her skirts, lowered a curtsy.
She was no longer Madame Deville. She was just Jane, and during the ensuing months, that role was reinforced further. Used like a whore in her Mistress's bed and kept busy with her duties around the house, she was scolded and spanked on a regular basis when her work and obedience failed to meet her Mistresses exacting standards.
The novel as expected was a bestseller, and whilst with previous novels the author remained cloaked in her reclusive anonymity, this was not to be the case with this publication.
Madame Deville held open house meeting for the first time her agent Sandra Genting and Paula Sinclair, the managing director of Bee House publishers. Madame Deville taking great pleasure in telling her distinguished guests, that her maid Jane was the inspiration behind her latest novel, “The demise of Lady Langworth.”
Within six months of the novel's publication, the transition from Mistress to maid was complete. Madame Deville’s maid was allowed to continue her writing, and another bestseller was beginning to take shape.