Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Story: Her Most Remarkable Performance. Chapter 3.

by Camille Langtry

Chapter 3

Evelyn had been to houses of the affluent classes before, but she was unprepared for the sheer opulence of the three-story mansion. The Ashburton residence was a flamboyant wonder of polished mahogany panels, Venetian glass, shiny marble floors, gold and crystal chandeliers. The silk-lined walls of the entrance hall were covered by paintings and Evelyn could see two matching Greek statues in a room to the right.

The actress looked in with little-restrained awe at the richness surrounding her as she was led by Sarah through an enfilade into a lavish drawing room that would not look out of place at a royal palace. The lady of the house, a young woman in a silk taffeta high-necked, long-sleeved grey dress with a prominent bustle, rose from the sofa. Her auburn hair was swept up in an intricate cluster of Josephine curls.

“It is very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Fairchild.” The lady smiled and asked Evelyn to take a seat  next to her. “Sarah told me so much about you.”

Monday, November 28, 2016

Story: Maid in China. Part 3.

by Barefoot Servant

Lightning bolts struck Maddie’s ears… over and over again. “What’s that noise?” she mumbled to no one in particular. Maddie pulled the pillow, too thin to be her own, and blanket, thinner still, over her head. They provided little protection. Only then did she realize that she did not enjoy the comfort and security of her own bed. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

“Alarm,” someone—Rosario—answered, “and you’re in bed when you shouldn’t be. We’ve got work to do.” The answers were punctuated by two sharp jabs to Maddie’s ribs, courtesy, she knew, of Rosario’s chubby brown index finger. At least the blaring of the alarm had ceased.

Maddie stretched. Arms and toes extended, she easily exceeded the length of the small bed. I hope my bed in China is more comfortable than this. Her eyes stung and her whole body ached, especially her feet. “What time is it anyway?”

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Story: Her Most Remarkable Performance. Chapter 2.

by Camille Langtry Chapter 2
Evelyn Fairchild stood in front of Arctic Fur Store at Chepstow Place and looked in awe at the luxurious offerings on display: fashionable mantles and dalmans, heavy floor-length coats, delicate opera cloaks and wraps, hats and muffs that appeared almost weightless. It wasn’t just the beauty of these items that mesmerized the pretty young woman, it was their extravagant prices. Even the simplest muff went for 12 guineas and a Russian sable coat she loved the most was 70 guineas –  an impossible sum if your weekly wage at the Royal Strand Theatre is just three pounds.

Evelyn did the quick calculation in her head: she would need to starve and stop paying rent for almost six months in order to save enough to buy the fur coat. However, she could probably borrow from some of the girls at the theatre to buy the muff –  and then repay them over a few months –  but what good was a muff if she had no gowns, hats or coats to go with it? Her dresses were nothing to look at, her undergarments were simple cotton, she had only two good pairs of shoes, and her old coat had gone at the elbows and was unlikely to survive the next winter.  She also had no jewelry to speak of. The straw hat she had on was not something one could find in the last issue of Le monde élégant and her plain brown dress’s tournure, in defiance of latest Parisian styles, was far too small. Evelyn was utterly, humiliatingly démodé.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Story: Her Most Remarkable Performance. Chapter 1.

by Camille Langtry

Chapter 1
London. 1884.

The  maid straightened an imaginary wrinkle in her snow-white ruffled apron, readjusted a lacy cap on top of her chestnut hair, knocked on the door and entered her mistress’s bedroom.

“Did Madame ring?”

“Yes, I need help undressing,” said the young mistress, dressed in a bustled crimson ball gown, and set down, facing a large ornate vanity.

“Most certainly, Ma’am”, the maid answered in the most respectful tone of voice she could master and curtseyed. She took the position behind her sitting mistress and started removing hairpins and, after the lady’s hair was set free from the confines of her elaborate evening coiffure, began combing it.

“Ouch! Careful, you clumsy cow… Did you pull any of my ‘air out? It felt like you did. Here, give it back to me.” The mistress grabbed an ivory comb from her maid’s hand and began working on her brown hair in long, confident strokes. “I don’t know why I keep paying ya, girl, I really don’t.”

“I am so sorry, Madame, this won’t happen again,” the maid ventured. The mistress put the comb away and stood up, facing the humbled maid.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Story: Her Most Remarkable Performance. Prologue.

At long last I have enough material to start publishing this lady-to-maid opus magnum. I am still working on it, but I thought I'd start sharing what I have with the blog readers to get some constructive feedback. It's really embarrasing to admit how long it's been sitting semi-finished on my hard drive so I've decided to gauge readers' interest in this project that has been dear to my heart. A teaser for now, to be followed by several chapters in coming weeks. Looking forward to your feedback.

Her Most Remarkable Performance

By Camille Langtry


New York. 1894.

“Are you sure it is here, Harris?” a young lady looked outside the carriage window in apparent disbelief.  The pouring rain has thankfully ended, the sky was almost clear and Mulberry Street, with its shabby brick tenement buildings, wooden shacks and lopsided sheds, surrounded by heaps of garbage, was now perfectly seen in all its dilapidated glory. This was New York’s notorious immigrant underbelly, considered by many the most dangerous part of the entire city.

“Yes, Ma’am,’’ Harris replied respectfully, opened the black carriage's door and held out the hand to his mistress. He was in his late 50s and sported a greying handlebar moustache that made him look like a retired cavalry officer. The lady, dressed in a stylish hat and an elegant light blue suit with oversized leg-o-mutton sleeves, stepped out, careful not to place her polished shoes in the puddle on the muddy, manure-covered sidewalk. On her delicate shoulders she wore a light fur boa with long tabs hanging down the front.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 15.

by Violet Carson
My first morning at Imperial Foods had arrived. I had driven past the large old factory a number of times as AJ, but never for one moment had expected to be walking through the gates and going to reception as an employee.
At the main gate a rather smartly dressed security guard stopped me and asked who I was.
I gave him my name and was asked to sign his Visitors Book and he directed me to a side entrance where the cleaning and shop floor staff entered the building, not via the smarter main reception area that was used by management and visiting sales representatives. This was another successful downgrade I thought to myself. Why would a poor cleaner be entering via a main entrance. I was Rose not AJ.
I presented myself to a rather disinterested black girl at the small and battered staff reception desk. There were quite a few rather sad looking individuals sitting around who I soon learnt were people hoping for work on the shop-floor or as cleaners. They all seemed to be foreign immigrants of some description. I sat there hoping that I wouldn’t have any of the “little accidents” that I’d had recently and that my pants were secure or I’d probably lose my new job before it had even started!

Friday, November 18, 2016

Story: New Employee. Chapters 12-13.

by BigBird74


The days that followed passed in a hurried blur of anticipation and anxiety. It took almost two days for the dye to wash out of my hair and even then it looked slightly dull and matted, robbed of its typical gloss. ‘I really should have gone to a salon’, I sighed as I fingered the mass of split ends and combed it into something resembling the mane I usually wore proudly on my head. Still no matter how much I washed, nothing seemed capable of completely removing the tanning lotion. I looked like I had been on holiday or visited a cheap tanning salon.

The last meeting before I started my reckless adventure therefore passed off under the confused gaze of a few participants who knew me reasonably well. Fortunately hardly anyone else did and, for once, my lower profile in the company had worked to my advantage.

I could barely concentrate on the meeting. I was now almost exclusively focused upon my ‘trip’. I still had to deal with a number of outstanding issues concerning Marta. Her pay (minimum wage of course + a bonus); her accommodation (the hotel of course, but a private room); her supervisor (hotel manager). As intelligent as I considered myself, I was giving myself headaches trying to think of everything that could possibly go wrong. And there was a lot. If not for my impulsive nature and the obsessive need to fulfil my fantasy, I doubt I would have carried on. So many things could go wrong, but I was no longer listening to my inner thinking.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Caption: A Much Better Mistress Than I Ever Was

Just a minute ago I was determined to finally tell her that the stupid game was up, that it had to come to an end once and for all. But here I was, standing in front of her, unable to utter a single word. I could see my impression in a vanity behind her - my black-and-white uniform, my apron, my lacy maid's cap, my pale, unattractive face - I was the exact opposite of the Goddess standing in front of me. How could I demand anything from her? I looked at her shapely semi-dressed body, her thick blonde hair, her picture-perfect face, her (or, rather, mine) expensive watch, her (or, rather, my mother's) golden medallion, hanging from her delicate neck.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Another Library Page Update

Thanks to a number of blog readers that suggested stories I should add to my library after my previous update post a month ago, I now have quite a few new items I am happy to link. They are of varying size and quality, but all deal with the subject of social drop and degradation and feature maids.

One recent lady-to-maid story that I really liked was published by Tcheser in his blog. It's called Hidden Shame an deals with themes of "makeunder" and role reversal as the protagonist goes from an arrogant beauty to a plain housekeeper to her former friend.

A reader pointed me to Akiko's Bodyswap Captions blog. One of the recurrent themes there is transformation into a maid. While anime is typically not my cup of tea, some of the content is pretty interesting for a lady-to-maid afficionado. Here is a recent example of the type of captions found there - Was I tricked?

Another reader reminded me of a lesbian domination video made a while back about a maid trading places with her mistress. Looks interesting. You can find it here.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 14.

by Violet Carson
I returned exhausted from my evening shift to find the group of Africans sitting on the stairs as I made my way up towards my flat. They didn’t move out of the way and I fearfully had to squeeze in between them smelling the alcohol on their breath.
I was petrified and as I passed one said in a thick African accent.
“Hey lady, have you got any cigarettes?”
My mind raced: should I lie and say no or give him one.
I reached into my shoulder bag and said: “Yes, but I only have a couple for myself.”
“They’ll do,” he replied, snatching the half full packet from my hand and passing it amongst his friends. Amazingly he returned the packet with two remaining cigarettes to me.
I was so relieved that I’d actually got off so lightly. It had even crossed my mind that I might get raped, but I suppose I looked such a turn-off to a group of muscular young men that any such thoughts would have seemed repulsive to them.
Another worrying thought was that when they passed the packet around I thought to myself,
“Please don’t take them all. I’ll have none to smoke later!”

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Story: Doeville Halloween Ghost Train

By T. H. Enerdly

Part 1

Barry Knight, editor of the "Daily Granite," hung up the phone. 
He had been asked for some help by a friend.  Barry pondered 
the request for several minutes before asking his secretary 
to fetch Claire, a cub reporter for the newspaper and ideal 
for the assignment Barry had in mind.

After a few minutes, Claire stuck her head into Barry's office 
and said, "What's up, chief?"

"Great Kaiser's ghost, don't call me chief, girl."

"Don't call me girl, chief."

"Too much sass by far," thought Barry.  "She'll be more respectful 
when she returns from her next assignment."

"Have a seat, gir..., Claire."

After Claire sat down, Barry continued, "Have you ever heard the 
legend of the Doeville Halloween ghost train?"

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Story: Transformation of a Middle-Class Woman

by Conchita
(Translated by The Nerdly and edited by C. Lakewood)

Part 1

Translator's Preface:

This is a translation from the French of a story entitled
"Transformation d'une Bourgeoise," which was uploaded to the
files section of the now-extinct Yahoo Group "Arrogant Women
Embarrassed" in the fall of 2004.  As far as I can determine,
the story was first posted to a French site that specialized
in a fetish for nylon smocks (which are somewhat similar to lab
coats and are typically worn by working women, such as cleaning
ladies).  The story's primary focus is on this type of clothing. 
I am not a devotee of this fetish, but do hope the translation
does justice to this aspect of the story.  There is also a
secondary focus on humiliation and D/s, which is of more
interest to me, and, I suspect, to the members of our group.

The story exists in several variants.  I uploaded one such
variant in English to the "Arrogant Women Embarrassed" group. 
Subsequently, I noticed that, to me, the French version is
more interesting than the English version.  For this reason,
I undertook to provide the members of the group with a new

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Story: Becoming a Maid

by Annette

Translated by The Nerdly, edited by C. Lakewood

Part 1

Miriam, a friend of mine, remarked one day during a luncheon,
"There are two ways of wearing a black dress: with a pearl
necklace or with a white apron."

The bon mot piqued my curiosity, so much so that the next time
I was at the Samaritaine department store, I bought a waitress's
white apron.  When I got home, I tested Miriam's theory in front
of a mirror.  First, I put on a pearl necklace and regarded my
overall image.  Then I exchanged the pearls around my neck for
an apron around my waist.  The dress with an apron was a
completely different garment than it had been with the necklace.

What if I actually WERE a maid?  Me...become a maid?  But how?  For
whom?  And, above all, WHY?  It was, of course, a truly mad idea,
yet a strangely pleasurable feeling crept over me.

I picked up the telephone and dialed a familiar number.  "Miriam?"

Friday, November 4, 2016

Story: The Bottle of Oil

By Sergio (domedeus2002)

Translated from the Italian by The Nerdly

"Damn, damn, damn!" muttered Valerie to no one in particular.  Once again, a bottle of oil had slid through her fingers and shattered on the floor.  She sank to her knees and began collecting the shards of glass, all the while cursing her clumsiness.  She knew that her mistress would not be pleased when she learned about this latest incident.  She had emphasized that Valerie was to be careful with the bottle, and now....  No, her mistress would not be at all happy to learn about her carelessness.

The last time Valerie had dropped a bottle of oil, the Signora had whipped her without mercy, and she still remembered it vividly. She had wept, had screamed, had begged at the top of her lungs for her mistress to show mercy and stop beating her, but to no avail. The punishment had continued unabated until Valerie had felt wetness on her thighs, and then she had to kiss her mistress's hand in the prescribed fashion, lick the whip clean, put it back where it belonged, and, finally, thank her mistress for the discipline.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Story: Maid to Order

I am planning to re-publish some of the stories from C.Lakewood's wonderful collection in this blog to make sure they don't follow the way of much of transformation fiction on once popular yahoo groups that have since been deleted or went inactive. A lot of this late 1990s-early 2000s stuff has probably been lost forever and, given the quality of C.Lakewood's work and the fact that his page hasn't been updated for nearly four years, I don't want one day to discover that the site is now gone. Therefore I will re-publish a few of the stories here and, possibly, introduce a few readers to some of the lady-to-maid classics.

Maid to Order
by C.Lakewood
                   |                               |
                   |         PENDANT PRESS         |
                   |                               | 
                   |                               |
                   |        Susan Ingoldsby        |
                   |                               |
                   |         Senior Editor         |

 I envisioned my brand new business card yet again.  The 
promotion was in the bag -- more status, a hefty raise, and better 
benefits -- in return for what is really part-time a 
little skillful flirting with upper management, implying a lot more 
than I ever intend to come across with....  God!  How long have I 
been playing this game?  It must be 15 years now -- ever since my 
sophomore year in college.  And I'm very, very good at it, if I do 
say so.

    College professors, traffic cops, salesmen, contractors, 
supervisors, Warren (my wimpy ex) -- all grist for my mill.  
The latest, old man Morton (the erstwhile Senior Editor and my 
erstwhile mentor), was one of the easiest: flatter him a little, 
pick his brains, knife him in the back, and manoeuvre the carcass 
out the door -- all without him really knowing what had happened 
and who had engineered it.  Well, he did warn me that "Business 
is Darwinian."  I hope he's satisfied to be part of the proof.  

    (Of course, I role-play only for people who can give me 
something.  Lower-end people -- janitors, for example -- tend 
just to get the sharp edge of my tongue.)