Story: Mika, the Constant Cleaner

The first part (chapters 1-9) of this excellent piece by Monica Graz was published nearly a year ago on this blog. Now Monica, as I keep saying one of the original inspirations for this blog, is back with the rest of Mika's story. Shared with the author's permission.

MIKA

THE CONSTANT CLEANER

 

CHAPTER 10

Saturday Morning

First person narrative - Mika 

I felt her hands cupping my breasts and her body pushing on me from behind as I was standing in front of the sink doing the dishes. 

“We suppose to go shopping today. Have you forgotten missy?” Linda whispered in my ear as she playfully moved her tongue around sending a wave of shivers in my body. 

“I’m finishing here Madame and then I’ll go and change to my street clothes.” I replied with excitement in my voice. 

“I want you in pants today Mika, I’ll prepare an outfit for you. Come in my bedroom when you finish here.” She said summarily and left, making me feeling totally puzzled looking down at my rubber gloved hands and wet apron front.  

Pants? What she meant by that? Does she want Mike back? I haven’t worn pants since I became Mika on a full-time basis months ago. I got so much used in exposing my legs either naked or covered in stockings or tights that the whole idea sounded utterly absurd. 

I finished my chores as quickly as possible removed my wet apron and literally run upstairs to the master bedroom. 

Madame Linda was arranging some clothes on top of the bed and turning to me, a Cheshire cat grin on her face said, “Here is your outfit, black girly pants with a side zip, pale blue blouse with a low neckline and puffy short sleeves and two-inch black pumps.” 

“But why pants Madame? I never had pants on since I became Mika full time. I’ll feel more vulnerable and probably more detectable as a male.” I asked in a puzzled voice.

 

Story: Mika Goes Pubic.

Monica Graz, a great friend of this blog and an inspiration for all lady-to-maid fans out there, has written a new story that she has kindly allowed me to post here.

MIKA GOES PUBLIC

By Monica Graz

PART 1

CHAPTER 1 

First person narrative - Mike Simmonds or Mika 

It was Saturday again! My special cleaning day! The day that I could clean the house dressed in my cleaner’s outfit.  

All my life I have been an occasional but committed cross dresser. I loved my dresses and skirts but above all I loved my humble cleaner’s uniform and I already was dressed in it. Nothing fancy, just a plain housekeeping dress of the type that hotel maids have to wear, a working apron, pantyhose and comfortable shoes. And of course, the appropriate underwear, matching panties and bra and my very realistic breast forms, the only expensive item of my cheap outfit.  

I fixed my thick longish hair into a more feminine manner, I put some lippy on and I was ready. 

I had no illusions of course as I looked at myself in the mirror. I knew that I had an androgynous look and I couldn’t easily pass in public as a female but that didn’t stop me doing it. The inner satisfaction I felt, sexual and not only, was the strongest possible drive, a drive I couldn’t resist though I have tried to stop it on numerous occasions over the years. The urge was far too strong. 

Story: Maid in Oaxaca.

Monica Graz is back with another instant classic of the TG maid genre. She's kindly allowed me to repost this story here (this is complete part 1 and beginning of part 2; the full version is to appear on Mags Inc as usual). Excellent research on her part and a great read, as always. 

by Monica Graz

PROLOGUE

Patricia Martinez Torres is a pretty and highly intelligent Mexican girl in her mid twenties living in New York. Her father Diego Martinez Torres is a high-ranking diplomat serving at the UN Mexican delegation. Her mother Alicia Martinez Torres is ‘old money’.  She is the sole inheritor of vast pieces of land and properties in the southern state of Oaxaca at the vicinity of the town of Juchitan.

In the district of Juchitan is the land on the ancient Zapotec people whose language and culture still thrive there. One of the many distinguishing characteristics of Juchitan is its population of muxes (pronounced moo-shays) which means women in Zatopecan dialect, clearly influenced by the Spanish word mujer for woman.

But the muxes are not biological women, they are people who were born biologically male and were encouraged to dress from an early age in female clothes either because they manifested some inclination towards that or because the family had too many sons and needed a substitute daughter to take up female duties within the family, usually with the blessings and the complete tolerance of the society.

Some have their breasts enhanced, others have nose jobs. Quite a number of then are permanently dressed as females wearing the colorful dresses, so popular within their culture. The majority of muxes start very young, before their teens and are trained in womanly ways by family and friends, taking their place in Zapotec cultural tradition that predates the Spanish colonizers.  

Story: The White Apron Was The Reason!

Monica Graz has kindly allowed me to share her recent novelette, The White Apron Was The Reason, with you. It is a TG take on Daphne and the White Apron that brings the story much further, taking the main character to Qatar. I enjoyed it immensely and I hope you do too. It's posted for free for this blog's readers, but if you'd like to purchase it to support the author, it is available from Mags Inc both as an ebook and a paperback version.

THE WHITE APRON WAS THE REASON!

By Monica Graz

PART 1 

Dennis Arnellos finished getting dressed and gave an indifferent look at his immense but untidy bedroom. His Polish maid Magda would take care of that later, he thought. He moved to his study and turned his computer on and then went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. He knew that Magda would be out at this hour doing her morning shopping.  

He started going back to his study but stopped as his eye caught the freshly ironed white apron’s strings as they were hanging down at the end of the utility room table right next to the kitchen. Instinctively he went in there to check. He picked the apron hesitantly and looked at it. It was a small serving half apron quite pretty with its broderie anglaise trim. He looked down at his slim body noticing his very simple black outfit he was wearing consisting of a pair of black trousers and a black T-shirt and then he remembered his early teenage years when he was helping their Filipina maid with her chores and the thrill he was getting when she was tying an apron around his waist when they were just the two of them in the house.   

The maid syndrome as he called it, together with his crossdressing tendencies that pestered Dennis from his early teenage years, were all of a sudden back as he was holding this simple piece of white material.  

Suddenly he had this strong urge to put the apron on. Magda was out shopping and she wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. 

Story: Daphe and the White Apron. Part 8 - Final.

by Monica Graz

8.1

“Inspection time girls!” Mme Ahmad said clapping her hands and both Rosie and Lita run from the kitchen to the central hallway. They both were dressed in a formal black and white uniform, elegant but quite conservative, the hem of their dresses a couple of inches below the knee. A smart white half apron and a small white cap completed the outfit.

They arrived in front of Mme Ahmad and curtseyed as she looked at them critically.

“Yes, you both look very dapper and professional and you smell nicely as well,” she said giving a side look at Lita who blushed remembering how she was chastised earlier for being a bit smelly. This time she added plenty of arm deodorant and light lavender cologne that Rosie provided.

Mme looked at the clock and added, “In a few minutes the guests will start arriving. You Lita will stand by the door and welcome them with a slight curtsey, nothing theatrical, just a small bob and then take their coats, bags or whatever else they pass to you. I’ll be behind you to greet them.  As I told you already Mr. Ahmad will come directly from the office with a group of his colleagues.”

Then turning to Rosie, she continued, “Rosie you will start circulating among the guests with a tray of champagne, orange and apple sparkling juice. I expect that half of our guests will stay out of alcohol.”

“Yes Mme,” both maids said in unison as she dismissed them with her hand.

Story: Daphe and the White Apron. Part 7.

by Monica Graz

Author’s note

Apologies for the delay. As often happens to us amateur writers, real life activities can be at times very demanding and challenging.

They will be two more episodes to finish Daphne’s predicament.

Episode 7 below and episode 8 that will follow very shortly.  

-----

“Girl! Halika dito.” Rosie yelled impatiently to Lita from the dining room, in that peculiar mixture of Tagalog and English, Taglish as it was called between the Filipina maids abroad.

Lita hastily had a last sip of her coffee checked her appearance in the kitchen mirror- a habit that she couldn’t resist- adjusted her work apron and run towards the dining room where Rosie was setting the table for this evening’s dinner party.

“Yes Miss Rosie,” she said with her customary small bob. In the past few weeks she started calling her Miss, to Rosie’s delight; she did it without being asked, simply because her submissive genes had completely taken over and she was acting as the junior maid in the Ahmad household with Rosie becoming more and more the housekeeper.

Story: Daphne and the White Apron. Part 6.

by Monica Graz

Lita/Daphne was full of contradicting feelings and emotions as she was walking fast towards the Arnellos residence. She was still wearing the blue uniform dress that Rosie gave her. She felt slightly embarrassed as she realised that they were strong discolorations at the hem of the dress most probably from the use of cleaning chemicals, but as usually nobody seemed to pay any attention to the young woman walking in the streets of Mayfair. She was obviously a cleaner or a maid going to or coming back from an errand.

A whole new chapter of her Lita persona has been opened widely as she acted as a maid during the past few hours at the Ahmad’s residence, a chapter that touched her profoundly. She had experienced in a disturbingly exciting way that being a maid in a ‘real life’ situation was something that kept her very alert and alive. She let everybody in the Ahmad residence to boss her around and to give her orders and instructions and peculiarly enough she found that this ‘putting her down’ situation was bringing constant waves of secret joy and sexual stimulation. She simply couldn’t understand what was happening to her. She had a feeling that an inner force had taken over and was pushing her Lita persona to new unheard and totally unpredictable situations. 

She found herself suddenly in front of the Arnellos residence building. She automatically used the traders’ entrance and the service lift that took her up to the apartment. She entered from the back door directly to the kitchen.  She removed her cardigan and automatically put her white half apron on. A thin smile crossed her lips as she then realised that this little white piece of material, this small apron, had started everything!

Story: Daphne and the White Apron. Part 5.

by Monica Graz

During the next few hours, Lita realized the hard way what serious housework means. She also realized how easy her job was in the Arnellos family house where she had to practically take care of an empty place. They started their cleaning from the bedrooms in the 1st floor. She instantly understood that cleaning the four occupied and heavily used bedrooms was a different story altogether. After they finished the master bedroom and its adjoining luxurious bathroom they had to tackle the children’s bedrooms. As expected they were very messy. Clothes thrown on the carpeted floor, wet towels on the bed, dirty knickers and bras hanging at the back of a chair. Lita was surprised and appalled. She could never believe that people can be that messy.

As they were working together Rosie started explaining about the family. “This is Akilah’s room, her name means ‘clever’ in Arabic. She is their oldest child; she has just turned 16 some weeks ago. She is really clever and very good at school but very arrogant and messy as you can see from her room,” she started saying as they were stripping the bed to change the sheets.

“Wow Rosie,” Lita answered, “I never saw such a messy room.” And immediately smiled secretly thinking that really and truly that was her first real maid’s job outside the Arnellos residence, but she couldn’t really reveal that to Rosie, could she!

Rosie who was quite clever picked something because she said, “Probably you never worked before in a house with teenage children. Believe me they are usually that messy.”

Story: Daphne and the White Apron. Part 4.

by Monica Graz

It was 8.45 in the morning and Lita was walking fast down the street. Dressed in one of her uniforms dresses, the mint green one, her sensible working shoes and a cardigan to protect her from the morning chill she was heading for her first outside work as a maid and cleaner. Her heart was beating fast as she tried to avoid the looks of the morning walkers, though no one seemed to pay any attention to her, another domestic worker clearly running an errand for her employers in that rich part of Mayfair.  

She was carrying a small canvas shoulder bag with some basic cosmetics a couple of aprons and Daphne’s mobile phone and credit card for emergency reasons. She was slightly amused and excited as she looked at the hem of her work dress where a few spots of discoloration were very obvious, clearly the results of chlorine and a big tell tale for her activities. She also couldn’t’ fail to notice the state of her hands which already lost their softness and looked rather red and rough, the hands of a domestic. Miss Magda was very pleased when she noticed that in the morning before her departure from the Arnellos residence.

“You are safe Lita, nobody could detect anything else but a domestic worker on you at the moment. It is not only your uniform and hands but also the lack of any frivolous accoutrements, a totally utilitarian look.” She said chuckling happily.

Lita wasn’t certain if she should be pleased or worried with that comment so she simply said, “Thank you Miss Magda, that makes me less worried for my first day in a new working environment. I certainly am interested in keeping a low profile.”

Story: Daphne And The White Apron. Part 3.

by Monica Graz

They were sitting around the kitchen table having their midmorning coffee, Lita dressed in her morning uniform having a break from her endless and mundane house chores and Magda dressed elegantly, ready to go out for another visit to a gallery or a museum.  

Magda had a sip of her coffee and scrutinised Lita with her eyes, “You look quite relaxed now Lita, you wear your uniform as if you belong to it, I never expected that you would be such a natural as a domestic.”

Lita, blushed but smiled mischievously and said, “Thank you, Miss Magda. You are right, I feel quite natural in that role as if I was doing it all my life, I don’t know what it is, I probably was a servant in my previous life.”

This time Magda chuckled and added, “I think you are probably correct, some of my Buddhist friends here in London would fully endorse that since they firmly believe in reincarnation.”

Story: Daphne And The White Apron. Part 2.

You can read the first part of this story here. Originally there was supposed to be only Part 1 (as indicated by words "the end"), but, thankfully, Monica reconsidered and decided to continue this lady-to-maid tale. Here is Part 2 of this wonderful story for your reading pleasure.

by Monica Graz

“Now Lita, you will need some proper working clothes. I can’t give you any of mine because I’m a smaller size plus the fact that the Arnellos family can certainly afford to buy the working clothes of their new maid.” Magda said casually after they both sat down again finishing their coffee.

Daphne got butterflies in her stomach as she instantly thought of the Alexandra uniform shop in Knightsbridge not far from Harrods. She always stops and daydreams in front of their window every time she passes by.

Magda must have read her mind because she added, “Let’s walk down to Knightsbridge to Alexandra work-wear shop; they have a good selection of housekeeping dresses and aprons.”

Story: Daphne And The White Apron

by Monica Graz

Daphne Arnellos finished getting dressed  and gave an indifferent look at her immense untidy bedroom. Her Polish maid Magda would take care of that later, she thought. She moved to her study and turned her computer on and then went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. She knew that Magda would be out at this hour doing her morning shopping.    

She started going back but she stopped as her eye caught the freshly ironed white apron’s strings as they were hanging down at the end of the utility room table right next to the kitchen. Instinctively she went in there to check. She picked the apron hesitantly and looked at it. It was a small serving half apron, quite pretty with its broderie anglaise trim. She looked down at her body noticing her very simple black dress she was wearing and then she remembered the words of her friend and confidante Annette when they were both students at a very exclusive Swiss boarding school for girls several years ago.

“Daphne dear,” Annette said with her melodious French voice continuing immediately in French, “Il y a deux façons de porter la robe noir, avec un collier de perles ou un tablier blanc!”

More Reading Suggestions From My Virtual Shelf

Partially thanks to feedback from subscribers to my newsletter (please sign up here if you haven't already), I've gotten quite a number of reading suggestions from you, dear readers. Therefore, I've decided to share them back with the crowd. I've really expanded my reading list in the past few weeks with new names and new themes in downgrade and social drop fiction. I'd also forgotten to add some good stories in my previous message so will add them here.

There is a treasure's trove of unread material still waiting to be discovered. Here are some that I liked that may interest you as well.

(Disclaimer: I may earn a small commission for any purchases you make via Amazon affiliate e-book links. Your purchase will help me support this blog. Or I can just buy myself a cup of coffee if a lot of you buy something).

The Peculiar Passions of Lady Mag: A reader pointed me to this classic tale about three 18th century English ladies-in-waiting sold as slaves to the colonies. "White slavery" in historic settings is one of my favourite topics so if you like such stories as well I can heartily recommend this vintage erotica tale. The first link is to the paperback edition if you want to hold it in your hands, the electronic Kindle version is available as Book 1 and Book 2 (affiliate links).

Voice Adjustment: Monica Graz has recently completed her old multi-part story Adjusting His Voice and published it via Mags Inc. I can't recommend anything done by Monica enough so if you are a fan as well, this is a must read.

The Rape of The Statue: A great Ophelia Press tale of voluntary social degradation. Set in 1950s Paris, this Marjorie Carthwright novel is about a young female student who choses life as a streetwalker. A good girl turned into a hooker is another trope that I enjoy so I couldn't miss this one. There is also something about classic erotica that is often irresistible!  Another reader suggestion.

Story: Forever Molly

by Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

Another strong gust of wind made me shiver and I’ve cursed myself for not putting on a wool scarf or a cardigan over my uniform dress. My thin coat alone was hardly adequate. It couldn’t have been much colder than 12 degrees, but it surely felt like Siberian winter to me! Must be that treacherous chilly wind, I thought to myself. After years spent in the climate so hot I could wear a t-shirt  or a light summer dress with flip-flops all year long I’ve certainly got out of habit of putting on layers of clothing to go outside. And Milan’s unpredictable October weather didn’t make it any easier - on some days it almost felt like sunny summer, but on others, like today, it was freezing!

I was right in the heart of historic Milan, surrounded by endless crowds of noisy tourists going in all directions. I looked at the address written down on a piece of paper. It should be here somewhere very close as per instructions: just three blocks away from the Duomo, off Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. I looked around again and finally saw a small restaurant sign in a narrow side-road. Looks like I got here first.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 14.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

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

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

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

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 13.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

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

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

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

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 12.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I could tell that Signora was genuinely surprised when she saw me coming in. “I can’t believe it, Molly, you look so pretty, so real; your friend Linda is so clever. But how you managed to pay for all this; was the money enough?”

“Linda oper to help pay, Ma’am,” I said nearly curtseying but stopping myself the last minute, I wasn’t in my uniform now.

“How kind of her, she is such a good friend. I love your short skirt and blouse outfit, it’s so girly, so Filipina girly. I bet you would be the envy of your village if they could see you now. John Carlo is going to love this.”

I felt uneasy again when she mentioned John Carlo, I wasn’t sure how the whole situation would develop but I had to thank my employer for being also so generous, “Thank you, Ma’am, give me money por buy new clothes, pirst time have new clothes, no uniporm, since work for Signora Matei in Milano, Ma’am.” I said not forgetting my bad English with the heavy sing-song accent.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 11.

by Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I was embarrassingly standing in front of Signora, fidgeting as usual with the edge of my not so clean apron. It was early in the afternoon and I was already tired, disheveled and dirty after a morning of serious cleaning and tidying up. The house was messy after the party and although it was a Sunday - my alleged day off to go to the Church - it was my duty to bring it back to order.

The Signora, dressed in her flowery, just-above-the-knee dress and designer high-heeled sandals, looked fresh and elegant as ever. Then, of course, unlike me she didn’t spend her morning carrying piles upon piles of dirty dishes or crawling on all fours to clean the carpets from numerous wine spills and greasy spots left by guests . She walked across the room, leaving very visible footprints on the wet floor I’ve just finished mopping, took out a pack of Virginia slims from her light brown Birkin bag and lit a cigarette.  

“I had a swim and a light lunch with Mark and Rowena, in the hotel they are staying, probably you’ve heard about it, Molly, from your fellow maids, lots of them are working there,” she said and looked at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.  “It’s the Raffles’’.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 10.

by Camille Langry and Monica Graz

The man turned to the right, looking around the room, and I froze in complete and utter shock. It was Mark! I looked at Signora, who, after seeing my reaction, walked towards me, blocking Mark from my view.

“Follow me. Let’s talk briefly before you do something stupid,” she said quietly and walked towards the study. I followed her, too scared to check if Mark saw me.

She turned and faced me as we both entered the study. I was still in shock and my hands were trembling. My normal English came back as I said in a very anxious voice, “Why you lied to me, Signora? What am I going to do now? I don’t think that I can go out there again.” I had tears in my eyes as I finished speaking.

She gave me an angry look, but managed to compose herself and said in a low but commanding tone, “Listen to me carefully, Molly. I wasn’t lying to you when I said that Mark and his wife had to postpone their trip. That’s what was mentioned in the last e-mail they sent me. But as he explained just now, there was a false alarm and his wife had only a strong allergic reaction and a persistent bad cough that initially was diagnosed as a possible bronchitis-pneumonia. After a thorough check-up and a good dose of cortisone she was fully recovered and they just run to catch their plane never having the chance to alert me.”

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 9.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I have been in a complete state of shock during the next two days.  All I could think of was the upcoming arrival to Singapore of Mark Fitzwilliam and his wife. The formal dinner at the Moretti residence he was supposed to attend this Saturday was fast approaching.

I had a moment of rest in my room before going back to my never ending chores. I was sitting on my tiny bed looking at the formal black uniform dress hanging on the opposite wall, the dress Signora gave me during our meeting two days ago, and I was trying to think how I was going to act as a Filipina maid in front of Mark and his new wife. Do I know her? Has she met me as Julia? Would they recognize me? God! I felt so miserable and uncomfortable. How could I let myself be so badly cornered? Or, deep down, as professor Caprio was telling me, was I really craving for that sort of exposure and humiliation?

At that moment Signora entered my room without knocking in her customary abrupt and busy fashion, carrying a package in her hands. I stood up immediately and greeted her with a formal curtsey. She has hardly ever visited my quarters so it must have been something really important.