Story: Departing from Milan. Part 1.

by Monica Graz

PART 1

I was dressed in a quite simple manner when Conchita took me out to meet her Filipino friends that warm Sunday afternoon. It has been the first time I wasn’t wearing my maid’s uniform since I arrived in Signora’s house two months ago; the first day I had the chance to go out as a ‘normal person’.

Since I had no other clothes except my maid’s uniforms, Conchita gave me an outfit to wear and I was dressed following her instructions. A pair of black cropped trousers, a pink polyester blouse of some sort of cheap glittery material, a pair of canvas shoes, a silver cross around my neck as my single piece of jewelry. I kept my jet black hair in a tight high ponytail and I had very little makeup on simply to emphasize my more oriental looking eyes.

Story: Arriving in Milan. Part 8.

by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte, Parts 3 and 4, 5 and 6 and Part 7 are by Monica Graz)

It was mid morning three weeks later and once more I was mopping the floor, this never ending repetitive job of a maidservant. I was as usually in a disheveled form, wearing my cheap light blue chlorine stained poly cotton dress, my equally stained apron and my rough-looking clogs. I still wasn’t allowed to use rubber gloves and my permanently red hands started developing small calluses. They were the hands of a manual domestic laborer by now.

I stopped once more in front of the hallway mirror and looked at myself. I still couldn’t believe how different I looked. A completely transformed person looked back at me; a Filipino maid looked back at me! I was a transformed person because under Signora’s strict instructions I had a complete makeover. Her idea of turning me into a proper servant in all aspects was to make me resemble a South East Asian woman and completely separate me from my white European origins. My longish hair was dyed raven black, my eyes got a more oriental look with some sort of permanent makeup and my skin became several shades darker with the use of a special solution that wears out very slowly, something like a permanent tan.

In the mean time I was not allowed to speak English any more. I had to communicate with anyone I came in contact with in my poor Italian. As Signora said I needed a limited vocabulary to perform my duties as a servant, there was no need for me to participate in elaborate intellectual conversations. Though I tried to improve my Italian by studying it hard every night, being deprived from my native language was quite a blow. I did start feeling more like an immigrant domestic worker in an alien environment.

Story: Arriving in Milan. Part 7.

by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte, Parts 3 and 4, 5 and 6 are by Monica Graz)


I hurriedly turned back to my cleaning job, wiping the window glass with a special soft tissue to eliminate all marks when I heard Signora’s authoritative voice, “Molly, come here at once, Signorina Connolly has some questions for you.”

“Subito Signora,” I answered with a slightly raised voice as I started descending from my short ladder. I wiped my wet hands to my already badly stained apron and tried to straighten up my uniform dress but I knew I looked quite disheveled after all those hours of constant manual work.

I quickly approached the two ladies sitting comfortably in the plush armchairs and I curtseyed as expected, saying in my pigeon Italian, “Prego Signora.”

“You are allowed to speak in English with Miss Connolly and answer her questions truthfully and to the point girl,” Signora said in her haughty manner.

Story: Arriving in Milan. Parts 5 and 6.

PART 5
by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte, Parts 3 and 4 are by Monica Graz)

I was very conscious of my appearance as I was wondering around, a permanent smile glued to my face, a tray in my hand, offering to the guests champagne and the
delicious little canapés prepared by Conchita.

For the first time in my life I was so publicly exposed as a maid in front of so many people. I was fully aware of my black uniform dress my little white apron and my tiny white cap pinned on my hair. I had very little make up on, just a touch of lipstick and some mascara. Signora was adamant about that; a maid shouldn’t look like a tart. The cotton white gloves cleverly were hiding my rough working hands.

They were all sorts of people there, from bankers to young but prominent artists, ‘la crème de la crème’ of Milanese society as Signora mentioned to us in the kitchen, without a trace of modesty in her voice. As I was wondering around I noticed that she was watching me like a hawk for a possible ‘faux pas’.

Story: When Lightening Strikes: A Model Maid

Thanks to T.H.Enerdly I was able to recover this 1998 story from a now defunct website. I believe this is the first lady-to-maid transformation story that I've read. It was later turned into a comic (with a somewhat changed storyline) - I posted it here -  but this original story is what got me interested in the topic initially.


When Lightening Strikes: A Model Maid
By: ROBO


Cindy Crawford sat down the paper unread on her lap. She heard her Chinese immigrant maid Mimi come in with the groceries. The girl had been with her for 3 months and her English had improved somewhat, but she was still hard to understand with her heavy Chinese accent.

She called, "Mimi!"

The tiny woman came in and bowed "Yes, Miss Crawford."

"Would you bring me a Pepsi please, a diet Pepsi of course I have to watch my figure."

Story: Arriving in Milan. Parts 3 and 4.

Monica Graz has picked up the story of Julia, a young and educated English girl who willingly becomes a maid to a demanding Italian mistress, where the author of the original, Lady Charlotte, left it. Here are the next two chapters. 

PART 3 by Monica Graz (Parts 1 and 2 are written by Lady Charlotte)

As I resumed my scrubbing the floor Signora came back and said rather condescendingly, “And Molly make sure you change to a clean uniform dress before you go shopping,  you look too dirty and disheveled at the moment. I want my maids to be presentable to the outside world.”

“Si Signora,” I answered dutifully not knowing enough Italian to say that I had no clean uniform dress left,  my other two day dresses and several aprons were even dirtier and I was planning to do a serious laundry after the end of my working hours.

Story: Interview With Madame Nguyen

By Hanna A____, freelance journalist
Translated and embellished by T. H. Enerdly

Translator’s Note

This story, in the form of an interview, was inspired by a file, written in French in the first decade of the 21st century, found in a now moribund Yahoo Group, and probably authored by someone who styles herself as “Hanna, femme de chambre.” My translation is quite free and has been “embellished” to give the story more of a Mistress-to-maid flavor.

Introduction

My name is Hanna A____, I’m a freelance journalist, and I’m planning on writing a story about Madame Nguyen, a book editor who has a hobby of training professional women as actual maids, of letting these women experience the reality of their fantasies, of giving them a taste of humiliation, as I found out to my intense embarrassment. She’s currently training a 43 year-old woman, a former executive secretary, as a maidservant. After a long telephone conversation, during which the 32 year-old Mme. Nguyen asked me so many questions that I felt as if I were being interviewed instead of her, she granted me an interview with her at her duplex in the XIII arrondissement of Paris.

In case it’s not clear to the reader, I must point out that Mme. Nguyen is a Mistress in the BDSM sense of the word.

During the interview, we discussed her complex approach to training a maid. She emphasized that she was only speaking for herself and not for other Mistresses. Nevertheless, her methods are quite instructive. She likes to recruit professional women who have a secret desire to experience servitude and offers them the opportunity to moonlight as maids while still living their “civilian” lives, or so it seems at first.

Mme. Nguyen lives near the Place d’Italie, on the Avenue de Choisy, in one of those hidden places in the Capital, at the back of a courtyard that leads to a former workshop that has been converted into a duplex. The location is quiet, but full of life, a place where the few remaining artisans sometimes cross paths with Rembrandt wannabes.

At her residence, Mme. Nguyen greeted me in traditional Chinese dress, the cheongsam. The interview took place on the first floor of her duplex in the living room, a large open space with simple furniture, lending a “Zen” feel to the room.

The transcript of my interview with Mme. Nguyen appears in the next section.