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.

My thoughts were running in circles and soon I was utterly confused as to what I should do. One of the aspects of my life as a maid that I’ve gotten used to by now was that I didn’t have to make any decisions - other than the most basic ones. I was just going with the flow and following instructions given to me, doing my very best as a domestic. My sudden “romance” with John Carlo was changing all that and for the first time since arriving in Milan I was faced with a situation where I was outside my comfort zone as a maid. My natural reaction was to submit to him fully, to treat him the way I treat the Signora - assuming that he knows best and follow the orders. That was certainly how I ended up behaving yesterday, but should I continue like this?

My thoughts were interrupted by the Signora who entered the living room. I curtsied, a duster in my hand, and she motioned for me to continue what I was doing.

“So, how was your evening, Molly?” she asked and, before I could formulate the response in my broken English, continued. “I have a favor to ask you. Do you remember Rowena, Mark’s wife? Unfortunately she’s gotten really sick, looks like her sickness is back after all. She’s been rushed to the hospital and the doctors are now saying she may have to spend there at least two weeks.”

“I sorry this, Ma'am.”

“Yes, the poor thing in this tropical climate. Anyway, this means Mark is all by himself and needs all the help he can get to unpack and set up at their new place they’ve just moved into. So Mark has asked me if I could have you help him with that tomorrow. I’ve agreed. I hope you don’t mind, girl, do you?”

I was in shock. She was really pushing for my showdown with Mark, was she? Me and him alone in his apartment. Yes, he didn’t know who I was, but that didn’t make me any less nervous. I wasn’t quite sure what to tell Signora.

“Listen, if you agree to help Mark I’d give you the full weekend off. What do you say to this?”

Signora looked at me intensely, making it crystal clear she wouldn’t accept any response other than an enthusiastic “yes.” Under her gaze I nodded my head.

“Very well, girl. I appreciate that. It’s tomorrow. And, one last thing. As per your contract you are only allowed to work for me. I don’t think you want to be caught breaking the law in this country. So, when you come to Mark’s place tomorrow don’t wear your uniform dress - we don’t want his neighbors to see that you are working for him. I told Mark about this little problem and he said not to worry, he’d have a uniform ready for you there so that you don’t spoil your street clothes.”

----
The following morning I was at Mark’s doorstep. As instructed, I was dressed casually so that I couldn’t immediately be identified as a maid. He showed me in, looking somewhat tired and nervous. I was facing him alone for the first time in many years. I’ve spent the previous night anxiously trying to imagine how we are going to have our talk. How I will open up to him. How I will finally face my demons.

Mark was renting a large apartment in a posh part of town, not far from the Signora. The place had at least four rooms and was very tastefully furnished in a chic glass-and-metal modernist style.

“Thank you very much for coming in, Molly. I really appreciate your help. With Rowena in the hospital and my job at the university taking much of my time I do need someone to set this place in order’’, he said, pointing at piles of clothing, semi-unpacked bags and boxes. “Shall we start?”

“Yes, sir,’’ I said with a curtsy.

“There is no need to be so formal, Molly. I want you to be at ease… Yes, one thing. Can you wait here for a minute?’’

I nodded my head, almost curtsying again - that has become second nature for me to such an extent it required mental effort on my part not to treat virtually everyone as my superior.

Mark came back shortly, holding two plastic bags in his hand.

``Here, I bought you something. I hope I got the size right. It’s a uniform, I want you to wear it here. Understood?’’

``Yes sir, thank you sir.’’

I took the bags from him and took out a black satin dress with puffy sleeves and a white lacy collar, similar to the outfit I was wearing at the party, only with a much shorter and fuller skirt. Did he really expect me to dress as a French maid? Mark must have sensed my hesitation because he addressed me in a slightly haughty manner.

“Come on, Molly. It’s just a maid’s dress. You don’t want your street clothing to get spoiled, do you? Go to this room over here and put it on. And don’t forget the shoes. I am sure you’ll look lovely!”

I went into a room that Mark pointed to and inspected the outfit again. Did he buy it in a sex shop? The dress, that looked very impractical, came with a matching shiny white satin half-apron and a cap. The other bag contained black patent shoes with very high spike heels. Surely, he didn’t expect me to clean in this ridiculous outfit, did he? And if not, what did he want?

As much as I hated the uniform it didn’t seem like I had much choice. Furthermore, I didn’t want to disappoint the Signora by disobeying Mark. I sighed and put the short satin dress over my head, tied a white apron around my waist and put on a lacy cap. The full skirt had an attached cloud-like petticoat that left nearly all of my dark legs exposed. This costume was clearly not designed with a cleaner in mind. More importantly, it complicated my plan to have a talk with Mark. I just couldn’t do it dressed like that. Not if I told him I was Julia. I would have to wait until I am in my street clothes again.

Lastly I took the black patent pumps from the bag and put them on; their high heels - much taller and thinner than the ones I wore at the party - only allowed me to make small steps and I had to walk a couple of minutes in them to make sure I could keep my balance. I could just about manage it.

Finally I was ready. I opened the door and made several steps toward Mark, my heels clicking rather loudly on the hard surface. He looked me over, clearly very pleased with the way I looked.

“You look wonderful, Molly,’’ he said. “Now, let me show what needs to be done.”

He walked me around the flat, giving me very specific instructions. I listened attentively, only interrupting Mark to say “yes, sir” and trying not to think too much of the uniform and the shoes I was wearing. He finally left me with a plastic bucket and a bag full of brand new cleaning and washing supplies and locked himself in a study - but not before slowly inspecting my outfit top to bottom in an openly lustful fashion. I suddenly felt even more exposed than I actually was and was happy to see him go. I could now concentrate on what I was doing best and what allowed me to forget about all my worries and frustrations - thorough cleaning.

I went about my duties, spending as much time as I could on my knees to avoid standing in the uncomfortable heels. Could I remove them? Mark didn’t say anything about it, but something told me he wouldn’t be pleased. He emerged periodically from his room to check how I was doing, but for the most part I was thankfully left to my own thoughts.

I spent a significant amount of time on the bathroom - it seemed that it hasn’t been cleaned since previous tenants moved out - and moved to the bedroom with its unmade bed and Mark’s socks, underwear and dirty shirts laying everywhere as if someone tried to spread them evenly on the floor.

I began putting the dirty things into a bag, when Mark enter the room and leaned against the wall, staring at me.

“I like watching how you work, Molly,” he finally said. “You are much more thorough than out cleaner back in England.”

“Thank you very much, sir,’’ I said in my sing-song Filipino accent without thinking twice.

“I love your accent, Molly,’’ he moved closer. “It is so… sexy. Can you say something else?”

I didn’t like where it was going, but again played along.

“Yes, sir, I need continue clean please.’’

“Very well. I do think there is something you need to clean for me,’’ he moved even closer, now standing so close to me I could hear his heavy breathing. He slowly put his arm around my waist, grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. “I want you to clean this, Molly. Don’t be shy, I don’t bite.’’

I tried to move away, but the heels really restricted my movements and his arm was holding me tight. Before I could say anything to protest he put his lips on mine, while his hand moved lower, beneath my short skirt, and began massaging my behind. After a long kiss, he slightly lessened his grip and said: “Come on, girl, I know you want it!”

All I wanted was to run away as fast as I could - even if that meant walking all the way back home in the French maid uniform - but I just stood frozen there. Was this the same Mark I knew back in England? Yes, we had our differences, but he was always a gentleman and even when we parted our ways everything was done in a very civilized manner. This new Mark was a sleazy bastard, eager to get inside his Filipina maid’s panties when his wife was away. There was a certain type of nasty Western men that flocked to this part of the world - eager to fulfill their sex desires that their women back home couldn’t -  but I could never imagine that Mark will fill this stereotype so well.

I tried to make a step back, but Mark pulled me toward him, I lost my balance and ended up on my knees. He put his hand on my shoulder, making it impossible for me to stand up, and unzipped his pants. It was obvious what he wanted and it was obvious he wouldn’t take no for answer, not after he positioned his semi-erect member in front of my face. I couldn’t let this happen. This was my last chance to protest and reveal myself. I sighed deeply.

“Mark, I am not who you think....”

He didn’t let me finish as he swiftly inserted his penis into my open mouth and held my head in place, making it impossible for me to speak or to withdraw.

“You don’t think I know? I thought you were a smart girl. Of course I know who you are, your mistress was eager to share your fascinating story,’’ he said and pushed even deeper inside my mouth, almost choking me. “So, tell me, Julia, were you a secret slut back in England or did you become one since moving here?”

I was shocked beyond belief. My God what a nasty character Mark proved to be! I couldn't believe that I was in love with him once upon a time. He proved to be far worse than poor John Carlo who after all was quite courteous and careful with me.

He was practically choking me now and acting out of a purely survival instinct I strongly bit his erect member. He let out a surprised yell of pain and hastily pulled back, an outraged look in his face.

"What on earth are you doing, you nasty piece of work," he yelled, slapping me very hard.

I lost my balance and fell on my back, but quickly stood up and started heading for the door yelling at him, not without some effort switching to normal English: "It is you, who is a nasty piece of work, Mark Fitzwilliam! I know that I have to face my demons and this is what I'd been doing for the past year, but at least with your unspeakable behavior today you freed me from my strongest demon, YOU! At last I'm able to find my catharsis today."

He looked at me bewildered, realizing for the first time that I wasn't prepared to submit to him. He started talking to me in a more conciliatory tone, "Julia wait, I didn't mean to offend you it's that..."

"Fuck off, you asshole! I’d rather be a Filipina maid than have to do anything with you," I yelled back at him before opening the door and running out of the apartment. It was only then that I realized that I was still wearing my French maid's uniform. But I didn't care anymore, I had to go back to Signora's house, I was liberated from the last link with my old world.