Saturday, September 3, 2016

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.

Yes daddy’s empire was huge. He regularly make the list of the world’s richest people, his name sitting proudly between various sheiks and tech tycoons. As his eldest daughter, I should have been set for life. But, as I will explain, this was not to be. For my life was about to take a turn for the unexpected. Still, on this bright and sunny morning, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as I slipped out my bed wearing only an expensive silk nightie.

I walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one of the sides of my apartment, with a view down upon Central Park. Pressing my hand to the window pane, I leaned forwards and gazed down towards the road below, which was already bustling with tourists and workers. I smiled, thanking my luck that I was not one of ‘them’, stuck with their routine lives. Since I was young I had realised how fortunate I was, that my life was not going to sink into the dull or meaningless routine many women have to face. At the same time, I knew this was not how most people lived and was extremely grateful for being born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

I stretched my lithe and toned body upwards into a yoga pose I learned from my personal trainer. Although, unlike my sister, I did not want the limelight, I did want to be desirable. While lacking my sister’s long blonde mane of tousled hair, I did have straight auburn hair carefully styled into long straight lines that sit neatly on my shoulders. My body was sculpted by years of careful toning and exercising, the best than money could buy. My pert posterior, small but firm breasts and long legs were almost model like. I say almost, because the shadow from my sister’s fame put me very much in the shade and she was the one was destined for that kind of life. I suppose my dress and assertive manner did not help. I liked to play the part of a serious businesswoman: knee-length, tight pencil skirts and blouses were my choice of wardrobe, not the tight, body-hugging short little things favoured by my sister.

I let my nightdress fall off my shoulders and slip to the floor in a heap at my feet. Stepping forwards I pressed both of my palms against the window, totally naked and enjoying the thrill it gave me. Pausing for a moment, I caught my breath and turned towards the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead. I slinked across the bedroom and felt good about myself, my life and my prospects.

The day ahead was busy. My family owned and ran one of the world’s largest chains of hotels employing tens of thousands of people. My penthouse was situated atop our flagship property in the heart of Manhatten. I chose my home carefully, making sure I was far enough from my father to maintain a degree of independence I would not have if I lived in the same building as him and my sister. I checked my clock and saw I only had 20 minutes before my chauffer would be waiting for me downstairs. I hurried myself to get ready, I did not want to be late.

When I finally emerged from my apartment block, I was the very image of elegant, business-like understatement, dressed in a figure hugging, knee length black dress all covered up by a long cream coloured coat. My long auburn hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. I strode confidently on my three-inch pumps to my waiting car, twisting and turning my body as I manoeuvred myself into the plush leather seats, my skirt riding up past the knee to the middle of my shapely thighs. As the car left the sidewalk, I checked my face in my little hand mirror and smiled at the beautiful young woman looking back, my lush red lips painted to perfection, complementing my slightly shadowed eyes.

Today I was visiting one of our hotels on the main road running out of Manhatten and into upstate New York. It was far away enough to be considered semi-rural, just at the point the greater city of New York petered out into rolling fields. It was going to take some time to get there, but should be worth it. We were in the middle of expanding our hotel network aggressively, aiming at cutting the ribbon on a new premises every few months. Many insiders thought us insane. It could take months, if not years, for a new hotel to operate efficiently and they said this could not be done according to the timetable we had set ourselves. An important part of my job was to see that this did not happen. I was in charge of setting common policies for all staff across our family’s sprawling empire. This covered simple things from uniforms and appearance to detailed policies on leave and pay.

The hotel I was visiting today was considered an outstanding success. We had not seen any of the problems associated with other hotels at this particular branch and I was travelling there today to see what we could learn.

I sat back in the deep leather seats and took a moment to gaze out of the window, watching the ‘ordinary’ people hurry about their lives. I found myself wondering about their lives. I tried to guess what kind of work they did; what they wished for; how old they were; what drove them to do just what is was they were doing. People watching is a double-edged sword. One moment you can feel terribly superior, sure of what you are and why you are there, then the doubt can set in. I would find myself questioning why I was so lucky, what had I done to deserve this? You see I was not all I seemed to be. A big part of the reason why I preferred the shade to my sister’s sun is that deep down, I could be deeply insecure. This would typically manifest itself in what people would see as occasional bouts of shyness, but that was only part of the story. Over the past few weeks, I have gorging on a steady diet of online erotica that I recently discovered on an unusual story site called Changing Mirror.

For whatever reason, I was increasingly finding myself drawn to stories that dwelt on humiliation and loss of power, both themes provoking a fire inside of me that I could only quench by looking for more material. Recently I had come across websites full of pictures of girls in a variety of bondage poses, all trussed up in an intricate web of ropes and knots. The imagery was still fresh in my mind and I felt a knot in my stomach. I reached into my bag and took out my laptop. Somewhat guiltily I glanced up to check that the driver was not watching me, my actions starting to border on the furtive. The fact that he spoke to me like a modern-day princess, while inside my head I had images of me tied up like the girls from the website, only made me shiver. I crossed and uncrossed my legs again, letting my skirt ride higher up my legs, my silky thighs rubbing and sending a cascade of pleasurable emotions running through me. I opened my laptop and went to my now favourite website and devoured another story. The time passed rapidly as the town turned to countryside and we arrived at the hotel.

“Miss Webb. We are here”, the chauffer’s voice informed me crisply.

“Thank you Charles. I am not sure how long this will take.” I paused feeling that little pang of guilt at making him wait, not what one would expect of a high-flying executive I thought to myself. I pushed the feeling to one side, collected my things, and left the car, striding into the hotel.


Upon entering the hotel, I was greeted by the manager, a stern faced man who radiated an air of deadly seriousness. I smiled and shook his hand politely. Once the formalities were over, I was quickly ushered into a meeting room where I was surrounded by men bombarding me with meaningless compliments about my work. I smiled inwardly. The fakeness of the whole situation, both my own feelings and their empty gestures embarrassed me slightly. This was a problem with working for a large company family - the obsequiousness that surrounded me risked seriously clouding my judgement. It was something I needed to watch for carefully. That said, the few times I had encountered genuine resistance, I had found myself a little lost for words. Now that I look back at it and imbued with my newfound sense of eroticism, I could see that maybe – just maybe – this had provoked feelings of submissiveness in me.

After settling down for the presentation, my mind inevitably wandered. The room we were in was separated from the body of the hotel by a thick glass window that was frosted across its middle third, letting those sitting down inside the room to gaze out into the main lobby. I nodded and half-listened to the presentation, while looking out of the window and started my favourite game of people watching again.

Outside of our room was who I assumed was a middle-aged Latino woman. Her stature was short and stout, with thick limbs. The dress she wore was ill fitting as most off-the-shelf work clothing usually is. Her hair was dark, almost jet black with occasional flecks of grey running around her temples. The style was truly awful, like some hangover from the 1980s: short bangs and a long ratty looking mullet. She was mopping the floor and was slowly working her way past the window. As she skirted past, I thought of her life and how it would feel to be trapped in such a dead-end job. The image that came to mind of her drab existence appalled me. I could picture her at home cooking food for some slob of a man, wearing a stained vest, days of stubble coating his droopy jaw. I breathed in smelling his sweat and odour and shuddered inwardly, the whole scene playing out in my mind.

I looked back across the table towards the manager who was explaining how his staff were recruited through a new agency. I smiled. This was code in our industry for hiring illegals. I watched as the cleaner stepped out of sight and went one step further in my imaginings. Surely she was an undocumented worker. She was trapped in a world of low wages with few, if any, rights. I was familiar with the complaints of the various NGOs I had dealings with, who would describe the virtual modern day slavery some of these workers would find themselves in, effectively indentured by an informal understanding between my company and the authorities. Sure it was illegal, but without it everyone would have to pay more and we would have less money to devote to campaign funds. That circular logic meant we kept the right people happy and were largely left alone.

Thankfully the meeting drew to an early close and we were escorted around the building to see how things worked in practice. As I progressed around the hotel, I took some mental notes of useful things the manager had done to keep the place running well. Still, I sniffed, it basically seems to boil down to cheap – very cheap – labour, which was something we could not emulate in our flagship properties, though perhaps it would be possible at other locations further out of town. It may even be an option to use this model at our newer locations, where all the staff were new and would not know one another.

Towards the end of the visit, we were ushered into one of the penthouse bedrooms, a suite that had been developed specifically for premium customers. At first I felt rather underwhelmed, but then the room opened up into a cavernous interior replete with the gaudy ornamentation favoured by the newly rich. It was rich trash to the extreme! In the corner of the room, somewhere behind us, came a crash. We all turned around to see the thick-set maid I had watched earlier. She had knocked over a bucket and was on her hands and knees mopping up the spilled water.

“Sorry… I clean now”, she said in her thick accent.

The manager was clearly upset and, as he approached her, the maid seemed to quiver. It was then something weird happened, I also started quivering. It would have been totally imperceptible to anyone watching, but to me it felt so… so… nice. For that split second, I imagined having someone with such power over me. The whole scene seemed to bring together many of the fantasies I had played with on the story site. I breathed in deeply as we stepped from the room, leaving the awkward situation behind us, though, as we walked down the hallway, the scene and the feelings I experienced replayed again and again in my head.

On my journey back home, I sat frozen in my seat smiling a little at the dirtiness of what had happened back at the hotel. I squirmed thinking of the seediness of the whole affair and opened up my laptop to visit my favourite website.


It took some time to return to my penthouse. Normally I might have been irritated or frustrated by the long lines of traffic snaking their way into the city centre, but not this time. My mind was elsewhere, floating around what I had seen earlier that day during my site visit. Surfing the web, I had found a few sites dealing with something called ‘downgrades’. Initially I skipped past them not understanding what the label really meant. That was until I found a site called lady2maid.

I must have looked completely absorbed as the driver did not bother me the whole time. I was so engrossed by the new reading material I had discovered and, with nothing else to do, I devoured story after story about wealthy women who were forced to live like maids. It stirred something deep inside of me, a mixture of fear, taboo, excitement, anxiety, sexual desire and pure, unadulterated eroticism.

For the first time the image of myself, Katherine Webb, heiress to a multi-billion dollar fortune, scraping and serving as a maid hit me! My lips parted and I took in a sharp breath of tense, anxious excitement. My fingers traced a line around the uniform of one of the maids featured on the site, the dark, crisp dress: a tight, almost corset like top that flared out into a pretty puffed up skirt, held aloft by a thick taffeta petticoat. She looked so pretty, so submissive. I flicked through the site gazing at the pictures, each one confirming this newly discovered fantasy with a tremor of arousal that ran through my body to between my legs.

By the time we arrived home, I had exposed myself to so many stories and pictures that I could do nothing else but hurry upstairs, brushing past the staff, and locked myself in my penthouse. Within seconds I was naked on my bed, writhing with my fingers firmly planted into my dampness. It was then my mind flicked back to the rush of feelings I had when the hotel manager has spoken sharply to that cleaner. For a second, I imagined I was her. I was the cleaner. The electricity that coursed through my arms and legs was like nothing I had felt before. I ground my fingers in deeper and deeper, until I climaxed in huge orgasmic wave.

I lay there for some minutes before, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling, an idea brewing in my head. I rolled over and reached again for my laptop, searching for an email I had been sent just the day before and had routinely ignored as something I would never have concerned myself. Fortunately I had a personal assistant that handled many of the mundane aspects of my job and I rarely had to concern myself with the minutiae of running my departments. Not on any usual day. I smiled: this was not usual. Scrolling down, I found the email was searching for: “New uniforms for cleaning staff”.

I read through the email and replied: “Please send me the latest samples. I wish to see them for myself. All sizes please.” Just for a second I paused. Would this look odd? I smiled. It was fine for me to take an interest in the staff’s appearance, it was a central part of my job after all. My finger hovered over the mouse button for some seconds and then *click* it was gone.

I slumped back onto my silk sheets and pressed my arms and legs up and down the bed, taking in the smoothness and luxurious softness of the bedding. My life was one of unimaginable luxury and I never failed to realise that but, even so, it was something I almost took for granted. I could never imagine how it would feel to be that cleaner, how it actually felt. The whole idea of swapping bodies with someone was something that struck me as absurd, but what if it were possible, just for a few hours. I again felt that tremor between my legs and wetted my lips. To actually BE that cleaner for a while. The idea sent thousands of little pins and needles up across my back. It was then another idea crossed my mind, one that was to turn my life upside down.


It took a little searching but I found a file that contained a list of new hotels to be opened over the next few months. Given the ambition of our expansion plan, there was a long list with new hotels scattered all over the country. One or two were even in what we termed ‘unconventional’ markets, shorthand for risky which, in less business-like language, were somewhat ‘out of the way’. My back arched in a feline curve as I lay my stomach down on the bed, stretching my back. I took a deep breath and saw what I considered to be a perfect place for my idea: Abbottsville. Heck where was it exactly? Scouring Google Earth for a minute, I located the site of the new hotel, about a two-hour drive outside of Wisconsin on the road leading West towards the two Dakotas.

I scanned the details. The hotel was due to open in about 2-3 months. They would start recruiting for staff in the next few weeks. Given its whereabouts, any recruits would have to come from the local area. That is, I thought, except one. Our hotel chain ran a scheme for talented staff to transfer from one hotel to another. Often the receiving hotel would benefit from that member of staff’s experience and, in turn, they would receive a set of privileges to make it worth their while. I mean, think about it, spending months away from home is not easy. I smiled and thought again, spending months away from home….

I mulled the options over again and again in my head, trying to find fault in the plan rapidly brewing in my head. I could assume an alter ego and travel to the new hotel as one of these transfer staff. I could easily create a fictitious identity that no-one would suspect. I could become a cleaner. I could BE just like that cleaner I saw yesterday. My back seemed to tingle with hundreds of pins and needles. I drew myself up in a fetal ball, my hands cupping my legs and drawing them close to my body. The thought was powerful and highly erotic. But was it practical? I could easily come up with a reason to be away from the office for a week at a time, but any longer than that? Hmm that could be tough.

For a moment, I felt deflated. Perhaps this whole thing was ridiculous. I mean, what was I thinking? Why would I risk such exposure? What if it went wrong and I was recognised? Feeling a little sick and as though I had lost something, I shut the files, saving them all into a new folder to read later, though I could not shut my mind down and it kept returning to the same thought. Again and again I worked through the possibilities, each time solving one problem, before discovering a further weakness.

Gradually a plan of sorts took shape. I had numerous doubts and concerns, but I felt that this could work. Since I was a child, I had found that the best way to overcome procrastination is to force yourself into something. So I told the first of many little white lies. I entered the personnel system and created a new employee: Marta Fernandez. The sizzling between my legs was delicious and intense. I pressed my body down onto the quilt and continued.

Age: 24

Place of birth: Mexico City

Qualifications: Basic school certificate

Each entry seemed to excite me further. Was it illegal? I had no idea, but it sure felt good. Now you may be thinking how is Katherine going to fool people into believing she is Mexican? Well you need to know two things. Firstly, I chose Abbottsville hoping there would be no other Latina staff. A stretch you may be thinking, but not when I controlled staffing policy for the hotel. I had studied Spanish for eight years and I think it should be sufficient to fool most people. As for appearance I naturally had auburn hair. I could fix that with a temporary wash every night and make it jet black. And as for my skin, well tanning liquid should do the trick there.

The only part of my plan that could cause problems was the prolonged absence from work. But I even had a plan for that. I would announce a grand tour of hotels that we owned abroad. Daddy would not mind if, for once, I extended the trip into a well-deserved break with occasional work duties. I had never asked this of him before and I am sure I was due a favour. Either way, this is the 21st Century. All I need do was write a few emails and keep answering questions and I should be able to balance things. The tanning product I planned on using only lasted a week, so if needed I could make a return at a few days’ notice.

I saved the profile on the system. Marta was now officially on the books. I shut my laptop and rolled over giggling about what I had done.


  1. Yes I read this a few months ago, so much potential but it`s been a while.

    1. Indeed, I've tried to re-establish connection with the author a few times since April with no success.

  2. OMG! It won't be finished!!!!! It could be just GR8. We can only wait and hope.

  3. Well it can really only go two ways from here. The first is that she becomes a maid and has a wonderful experience, either playing the maid until she gets tired of it or staying a maid forever. The second is that she becomes a maid and doesn't like it and either goes back to being an heiress or is tries to and fails because she has somehow become trapped in her new identity.

    So who volunteers to write which continuation?

  4. This comment has been removed by the author.

  5. Fun story. Very promising beginning. Very plausible protagonist, psychologically. And the reference to this blog was a nice touch. I hope the story continues. Personally, I'm not comfortable with seeing stories "continued" by other authors. Trying to tell a good story is hard enough on its own. Add the effort to continue the plot and match the style of a preexisting story, and it gets lots, lots harder. It works sometimes, but I suspect the people who write "continuations" could have written better stories that were all their own creation.

  6. Hello.. It's me! BigBird. Goodness... life just got turned upside down again for me a few months back and I just have clean forgotten this. I'll try and post a new chapter on the site in the coming days.

    1. Hey, that's great! Feel free to send me as well!

    2. Happy to hear. Like your easy to read style and this type of downgrade story. Well written. Keep up the good work.

  7. I have another part ready. Could you let me know an email to submit it to? :-)

    1. I would much prefer to post it here first then on the other forum. But was thinking you may prefer it the other way around.

  8. Hi BigBird

    Send it to Camille. Her contact details are on the form at the top of the page. I luv your story and can't wait for the next part.


    1. Thanks Violet :-) I was looking at the site regularly to see your story. Really enjoying it!

      I tried to cut and paste it into the form given, but it gives me an error message and I do not see an email address up there. No worries, I will keep the parts coming, perhaps 2 a week :-)

  9. Hi

    Thanks for the compliment. I send mine as a word attachment to Camille.


    1. I just do not see it. I am looking at the contact form and cannot see a way of attaching a file... *bah technology* :-)

    2. Please use


  10. Just one little thing I noticed: The narrator is presented as an American, but, in the second paragraph, she uses the expression "high street". That isn't a common expression in the States.

  11. Yes! That is a good point! BigBird

  12. I am hoping Miss Webb's escape plan fails and she gets trapped as a maid.

    1. I prefer reading of women having adventures rather than being destroyed...her own fascination with her new identity should be the path to its permanence.

    2. This is a wise comment.

  13. Is the heroine supposed to resemble the well-known Katherine Webb (beauty queen married to NFL player)?