Story: From Lady to Maid and Back Again.

By Peter242

Sarah was forty-six and the full-time maid for Lady Veronica Walker, who was twenty-four. Sarah had always worked as a full-time maid, always being a submissive to her Mistress, and a hard worker. What surprised her at the interview with Lady Veronica, was that her Mistress gave her permission to spank her whenever she felt like doing it. In fact, it was stated in the contract that she should do so four times every four weeks, so on days chosen by Sarah rather than pre-set days, and with multiple spankings during that day. 

The actual process would be that Sarah would issue the instruction that control had changed to her for up to the next twenty-four hours, and during that time it would be Lady Veronica who would take on the role of full-time maid to Sarah. As well as the start time, it would be Sarah who would announce exactly when control would revert back to Lady Veronica. 

Lady Veronica wanted it to happen that way, as she wanted Sarah to have that full control over her. 

It turned out that the reason for this, was that Lady Veronica was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and whilst she lived in a mansion in grounds, she was actually quite bored with her life. 

Lady Veronica knew she was an alpha female, but the fantasy had built up in her mind that she would like to be disciplined from time to time. Who better, she told herself, than her own full-time maid, who she would pay extra money to every single time she did it? 

Sarah didn't see anything wrong with taking control, even if it was just for twenty-four hours or so, and on average just once a week. She enjoyed having Lady Veronica as her full-time maid, particularly as she was being paid more to do exactly what Lady Veronica actually wanted to have happen to her, which was for her to be submissive to Sarah, carry out cleaning and other household chores that Sarah would normally do, and suffer more than one severe thrashing during the day. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 21.

by Melissa

Part 21. Whispers of doubt, seeds of action.

Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, awoke with a scowl. The news of Melissa's arrest had soured her mood considerably. She sat up in bed, the crisp cotton sheets doing little to soothe her ruffled feathers. Melissa, in jail? The girl was a handful, no doubt, always pushing the boundaries, sneaking around with papers when she should have been learning her duties. Mrs. Henderson had suspected for some time that Melissa had been studying in secret, a fact that had irritated her more than surprised her. But theft? That was a different matter entirely. Melissa was many things – spoiled, entitled, a touch too clever for her own good – but a thief after her arrival at Elmwood? That, she couldn't believe.

Mrs. Henderson rose and walked to her wardrobe, a sturdy, no-nonsense piece of furniture. Inside hung her uniform, starched and impeccable, ready for the day. It was a variation of the standard maid's uniform, designed to reflect her position as head maid. The dress was a dark grey, a shade more dignified than the navy blue worn by the other maids. It was still long, reaching just above her ankles, but the cut was slightly more tailored, reflecting her authority. The white apron, as crisp and clean as ever, was longer as well, extending almost to the hem of her dress. It was also devoid of any pockets, a symbol of her supervisory role, as she wasn't expected to do the same chores as the other maids. A small, grey cap, trimmed with a slightly wider band of lace than the others, completed the ensemble.

Mrs. Henderson pulled the dress from its hanger, the heavy fabric a familiar weight in her hands. She slipped it over her head, the smooth fabric a welcome comfort. She fastened the buttons, her fingers moving with practised ease. The apron followed, the long white expanse a stark contrast to the grey of the dress. She tied the strings at her back, the bow neat and precise. Finally, she placed the grey cap on her head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Looking in the mirror, she saw Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, a force to be reckoned with.

Dressed and ready to face the day, Mrs. Henderson left her room and headed to her office, a small but functional space located at the back of the staff quarters. The room was sparsely furnished, containing a large oak desk, a comfortable armchair, and a filing cabinet. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with neatly organized files and ledgers. A large window overlooked the gardens, providing a calming view, though Mrs. Henderson was far too agitated to appreciate it at the moment.

Mrs. Henderson sat down at her desk, pulling out the staff schedule. As she reviewed the assignments for the day, her mind raced. Melissa's clandestine studies didn't surprise her. She'd suspected the girl was intellectually inclined, but she'd warned her repeatedly. The dean, Mrs. Cavendish, was a stickler for the rules. No staff member was allowed to be studying while working. But Melissa, stealing money? It made no sense.

Could Melissa have been framed? The thought occurred to Mrs. Henderson. It was possible. But why? Who would want to frame her, and for what reason? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered. She drummed her fingers on the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration. Melissa was one of "her girls," as she privately thought of the maids under her charge. And one of her girls was in trouble. Unjustly, she suspected. Melissa might be a rule-breaker, but she didn't belong in jail. She belonged at Elmwood Academy, under Mrs. Henderson's watchful eye, learning the way to conduct herself as a proper servant. A little discipline, a little guidance, that's what the girl needed, not a prison cell. Mrs. Henderson felt a surge of protectiveness. She was responsible for her staff, and she wouldn't let this injustice stand.

Story: Victoria And Rosie's Transition.

by Peter242

Victoria was thirty-eight, now an extremely wealthy lady having inherited from her parents who recently had both passed away. However, she wasn't enjoying her life at the moment, not just because her parents were no longer with her, but because she now had to practically work for a living.   

Of course, by, 'work for a living,' she was not working for the money, but was managing several trusts that had been set up by her parents. The problem, was that Victoria had never had to work at all and had spent most of her life on her tablet, playing games, and corresponding with so-called friends from around the world.   

Victoria got more and more depressed thinking how the rest of her life was now carved out with what she saw as very boring things to do. Because she found having to deal with the trusts so time-consuming she had already lost most of her online friends as well.   

Her family had always had a full-time live-in maid. The current one was Mary, who was actually the same age as Victoria at thirty-eight, and who had been the family's maid for over twenty years. She did all of the household chores, cleaning the house as well as washing the clothes and everything involved with that, and all of the cooking.    

What Victoria saw, was how Mary enjoyed her job. Victoria could tell it was very hard work, but one time when she had asked Mary about it, Mary had told her that whilst it was hard work, she didn't have to think about her work, but just do it. Mary had also explained that she was the third generation of women in the family who had taken a career as a full-time live-in maid, so, it was therefore inbuilt into her brain. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 20.

by Melissa 

Part 20. Striking a deal with the devil. 

The morning sun, filtered through heavy silk drapes the colour of clotted cream, cast a soft glow across the opulent bedroom. I, Melissa Jones, stirred, a groan escaping my lips. My head throbbed, a dull ache that mirrored the unease churning in my stomach. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the light, taking in the room's extravagant details. A four-poster bed, crafted from dark, polished wood and draped with a canopy of sheer, shimmering fabric, dominated the space. Ornate, gilded mirrors lined one wall, reflecting the plush, velvet chaise lounge and the antique writing desk tucked near the window. A thick, Persian rug, rich with intricate patterns, muffled my bare feet as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. 

Though I'd been living in this room for weeks, it rightfully belonged to the other Melissa Jones, the redhead. And that thought, sharp and insistent, was the source of my headache. The previous day's events also replayed in my mind, a chaotic jumble of flashing lights, raised voices, and the terrified face of the poor redhead. The one whose life I had so casually, so brazenly, usurped. The one who had been led away in handcuffs and was now sitting in a jail cell, accused of theft. A theft that I knew, with a sickening certainty, I myself was responsible for. 

I rose, the cool air sending a shiver down my spine. A silk robe, embroidered with delicate silver thread, lay draped across a nearby chair. I slipped it on, the smooth fabric a stark contrast to the rough texture of my conscience. 

The adjoining bathroom was a sanctuary of marble and glass. A freestanding clawfoot bathtub, gleaming like a pearl, sat beneath a window overlooking the manicured gardens. A separate shower enclosure, with jets spraying from every angle, promised a refreshing start to the day. The air was fragrant with the subtle scent of lavender and sandalwood, emanating from a diffuser perched on a small table beside a pile of fluffy, white towels.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 19.

by Melissa 

Part 19. Arrested. 

The morning after the incident with Mrs. Henderson, I woke up with a throbbing pain in my back. I winced as I sat up, the memory of the previous night's events flashing through my mind. I felt a sense of shame and confusion, but also a strange sense of excitement. 

I reluctantly peeled off the thin, scratchy blanket that barely covered me in the dank, cold room. The walls were a stark white, almost blinding in the harsh light that streamed in through the small, barred window. The room was sparsely furnished with a single, hard bed and a chest of drawers, which contained the only possessions I was allowed: the court-approved underwear and the traditional maid's uniform that was as much a symbol of my degradation as it was a tool for the backbreaking work I was forced to do. 

Gingerly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. The ache in my bottom was a constant reminder of my lowly status here at Elmwood Academy. The thought of the cold water was almost unbearable, but I knew hot water was a luxury I could not afford. As a maid, my comfort was never a priority. 

The chilly air nipped at my skin, making me shiver as I walked over to the washbasin, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to the warmth I craved. The icy water in the pitcher was a stark reminder of my place. As I raised it to my face, the frigid liquid hit my skin, making me gasp. I closed my eyes and let it run over my cheeks, hoping it would wash away the tears and the memories of the previous night's punishment. The water felt like a thousand tiny needles, but it was a sensation I had grown all too accustomed to. 

My reflection in the small, cracked mirror looked nothing like the Melissa Jones that once existed. My eyes were sunken, my cheeks flushed from the cold, and my hair was a mess of tangles. As I bent over the washbasin, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal from the memory of the day before. The way Sabrina had forced me into that kiss, her hand gripping the back of my neck, the feel of her soft, demanding lips on mine. It was wrong, and I knew it, but the heat of it had stayed with me, haunting my dreams and leaving me feeling both disgusted and excited.

Story: Sister to Maid

by Peter242 

I am Laura. I love, respect, and now happily obey, Hayley, my younger sister. Although, as the older sister, I had thought that I should be the one in charge when our parents unfortunately passed, it worked out differently.   

Hayley is twenty-eight, and I am thirty.   

We both have the title of, 'Lady,' given our birth into the titled family, and we both live at home on the family estate. Although our parents are, sadly, deceased, in our silver spoon financial position we have a full-time live-in maid, Emma, who is thirty-two. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, Emma at first had to take leave for three months. Since then, Emma has told us that she will be unable to return due to problems she has suddenly got.  

We got around that problem, though.  

We both have bedrooms about the same size, and both are en-suite. We buy expensive clothes and perfume, but I am actually quite happy with plainer clothes as I rarely go out as, for whatever reason, I don’t have many friends. Hayley does, and so goes out regularly.   

As Emma had looked after the house, and managed all of the grounds men, Hayley and I had plenty of free time. So, whilst Emma was gone for just three months, instead of employing another maid on a temporary basis, Hayley and I agreed to split all of the house duties. In fact, it was my idea, and Hayley agreed, what with me being the older sister. The house duties covered everything, such as shopping, cooking, washing the clothes, ironing, and the like, as well as cleaning.   

It quickly became clear that Hayley wasn’t happy with me telling her what to do. I knew that she was very competitive, and that became even clearer now. In fact, I could see that Hayley was trying to impose her superiority over me, when, during times when we weren’t doing our household chores, and would normally have just relaxed watching the TV, she insisted that we played games. 

 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 18.

by Melissa

Part 18. The price of pleasure.

As I walked back to the maid's quarters, I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. It had been wrong, so wrong, but there was something about the way Sabrina had taken control that had stirred something deep within me. I tried to shake it off, to focus on finding a way out of this situation, but the memory clung to me like a sticky web. I felt a strange heat pooling in my stomach, and my cheeks burned with a mix of anger and something else - something I didn't dare to name.

In the quiet solitude of my room, I couldn't escape the feeling that had taken root. The way Sabrina had touched me, the way she had made me submit, it was as if she had unlocked a part of me that I had never known existed. I tried to tell myself that it was just the stress, the fear, that was making me feel this way, but deep down, I knew it was more. There was a thrill in the submission, a dark allure that whispered to me, promising an escape from the harsh reality of my predicament.

I lay on my narrow bed, my body feeling both heavy and restless. My mind replayed the scene in the lobby over and over again. Each time, the kiss grew more intense, more demanding. I felt the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the way she had claimed me as her own. It was a strange mix of anger and arousal that surged through me, leaving me feeling both violated and... excited. I buried my face in my pillow, trying to muffle the soft moan that escaped my lips. My hand, seemingly of its own accord, began to drift down my body. My skin felt feverish and sensitive, the fabric of my maid's uniform too rough against my skin. I slipped my hand under the fabric of my panties, my heart racing as I touched myself. It was as if I was trying to erase the memory of Sabrina's fingers on me, to claim back some semblance of control. My fingertips brushed against my clit, and I gasped. It was swollen and sensitive, and I realized that I was wet, soaking wet, from the encounter.

I couldn't believe it. I hated the way Sabrina made me feel, the way she made me crave something that I didn't even understand. But as my fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, I couldn't deny the response my body was having. It was as if she had flipped a switch inside me, one that I didn't even know existed. The anger and fear and humiliation all coalesced into something... else. Something that made me feel alive. My breath grew ragged as I touched myself, my imagination conjuring up images of Sabrina standing over me, watching me with that smug smile on her face. But instead of the fear and anger, there was a new emotion there - one of submission, of letting go. And it was terrifying. I didn't want to want this, didn't want to be the kind of person who found pleasure in being used and degraded. But as my orgasm grew closer, I couldn't help but embrace it. It was a release, a way to take back some of the power that she had stolen from me.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 17.

by Melissa 

Part 17. Under Sabrina's thumb. 

The morning sunlight streamed in through the dusty window, casting long shadows across my cramped room of the maid's quarters. I groaned, rolling over to avoid the rays. I had been sleeping on a hard cot for two weeks, ever since I had been mistaken for a delinquent girl and forced to become a school maid at Elmwood Academy. My dreams of a posh private school had turned into a nightmare of endless chores and the strict supervision of Mrs. Henderson, the head maid. Despite my attempt to clarify the identity mistake with the Dean, Mrs. Cavendish, my situation remained unchanged. Mrs. Cavendish, with an air of unwavering resolve, insisted I maintain my duties as school maid while she investigated the matter further. This left me in a peculiar position, unsure of the future but committed to fulfilling my assigned tasks for the time being. 

Today was different from other days though. Mrs. Henderson was away for several hours, and Sabrina, another school maid who I had grown to loathe, was in charge. Sabrina was often cruel to me, taking pleasure in humiliating me. I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as I climbed out of bed. 

As I made my way downstairs, I noticed that Sabrina was already waiting for me in the kitchen. The normally cheerful room was now tense and uncomfortable. "Good morning, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hope you're ready for another day of hard work." I forced a weak smile, not wanting to antagonize Sabrina further. 

I followed Sabrina through the hallways, past the empty classrooms and locked doors. Today, I was assigned to clean the science lab. My heart sank as I remembered the last time I had been in there. I had accidentally broken a beaker, and Mrs. Henderson had scolded me severely. 

While I wouldn't normally be allowed in, Sabrina used her fingerprint to grant me access to the lab. I felt a shiver of anxiety run down my spine. "Now, Melissa," Sabrina said, her voice low and threatening, "I want you to clean this place spotless. And if I see even the tiniest speck of dust, you'll be sorry." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 

I took a deep breath and began to survey the lab. It was a mess. Beakers and test tubes were scattered across the counters, and the floor was covered in a layer of grime. I grabbed a mop and bucket and started to clean, methodically scrubbing the tiles until they shone. As I worked, I couldn't help but wonder when Mrs. Henderson would return. I didn't trust Sabrina to be in charge for very long. 

Story: The Job Interview. Part 7.

By Inanimate77

With a growing sense of dread, Amy realized that the wedding was fast approaching. It seemed like every time Amy began to feel a bit more comfortable in her role as a housemaid something new was thrown at her.

Unbeknownst to the young maid, Susan had been intentionally plotting to keep her off balance. It was all part of her plan to slowly break down the college student who despite having such a promising future was rapidly losing control.

From a young age Susan had always liked the finer things in life. As a child she used to sneak sips of her parents' fine wine when they were not looking. Throughout her childhood, she was always searching for the next big thing. Whether it was equestrian lessons or one on one figure skating lessons from a former Olympian, Susan strived to be the best. She craved being elite and took delight in one upping her friends. All of them came from good homes as well, so it was a continual arms race.

Amy, however, represented a potential crowning achievement. Sure many of her friends had domestics serving in their home, although most were just poor immigrants from some backward country. Still a few had managed to hire genuine Americans to serve at their beck and call. Up until now they had been the envy of the group, but all of that was going to change. When Susan presented her Ivy League educated housemaid to her friends they would literally die from jealousy. She just needed a little more time to finish breaking the girl before the big reveal.

As the Labor Day weekend wedding approached, Susan had intentionally taken her foot off the pedal. She needed Amy to let her guard down so that this latest experience would have the maximum psychological impact. With college set to resume the following Tuesday, her maid would be completely frazzled and out of sorts. While she didn’t want her to flunk out, Susan wanted to crush what little confidence remained in the coed.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 15.

by Melissa 

Part 15. Talking to the dean at last. 

The next day, I stood nervously in the hallway of Elmwood Academy, my heart racing as I saw the message flashed by the biometrics system after I had placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner to access to the laundry room: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please suspend current cleaning duties and report immediately to the dean, Mrs. Cavendish." 

Rejoicing inwardly, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Agnès, the receptionist. Her initiative in snagging this meeting with the dean had potentially saved the day. Now, I'd finally have a chance to explain myself to Mrs. Cavendish, the one person with the power to resolve this bureaucratic nightmare. Crucially, she could update my registration in the biometrics system and undo the identity mix-up that led me to be mistaken for my namesake, a delinquent girl sentenced by a Court to community service as school maid under the strict supervision of Mrs Henderson, the head maid. 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Henderson, who had been keeping a close eye on me. "Melissa, I've been meaning to warn you," she began, her tone grave. "Tread very carefully around Mrs. Cavendish, the dean. She's a woman of formidable sternness. If you claim to be a student and she doubts your word, things could turn ugly fast. She has the power to dish out extreme punishments, and even with my best efforts, there'd be nothing I could do to shield you from her wrath. Trust me, for your own safety, it's best to avoid telling her about any fantasies of being a student." 

I braced myself and decided to tell the truth. "I've got to do what's right, Ma'am, and that means clearing my name."

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 14.

by Melissa

Part 14. Glimmers of hope.

This was the first day of my second week at Elmwood Academy. It was still early morning, the first bell a distant threat in the quiet halls, but I couldn't wait any longer. Every second counted. After straightening my apron and maid's cap and scanning my fingerprint to open the door, I crept out of my cramped quarters in the maid's dorm, the stolen hours of sleep clinging to my eyelids like cobwebs. In my hand, I clutched the completed assignment, a testament to my nearly sleepless night. The hallway echoed with the soft thud of my steps as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the student lockers.

I soon reached my destination, a stylish locker adorned with an elegant plaque bearing the name "Melissa Jones" and which should have been mine. I reached to the locker and put my fingerprint on the scanner. "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Access to student Melissa Jones' locker denied." Of course, the locker - my locker - was programmed to be used by the delinquent girl who had stolen my identity, not by me.

Suddenly a figure materialized from the shadows. It was the delinquent girl herself. Startled, I almost dropped the assignment. The girl, clad in her pristine schoolgirl uniform, eyed me with suspicion and a defiant scowl, a smirk twisting her lips. "Early bird, aren't we?" she drawled, her voice rough with sleep.

Caught off guard, I stammered, shoving the assignment towards the girl. "I, uh, I finished your assignment."

The girl took the paper with a disinterested shrug, not bothering with a thank you. Then, to my surprise, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled banknote. "For your troubles," she mumbled, thrusting the money into my hand.

I stared at the low-value banknote, torn between relief and hesitation. Taking money felt wrong and it was a very small sum, yet it might come in handy as I was completely penniless after all my means of payment had been confiscated on my arrival at Elmwood Academy. "Thank you, Miss... Jones," I stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsy out of habit.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 13.

by Melissa 

Part 13. The hidden garden. 

As I slowly made my way to my room to rest, still wincing of pain at each step, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me? How could I feel such arousal when Sabrina was belittling me and had forced me to kiss her? Could she be right about me? Was I just a weak submissive girl craving to be dominated? The thought snaked its way through my mind, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. That couldn't be true, I muttered inwardly, desperate to return to a place of certainty. But the seed of doubt had been sown, and I was no longer entirely sure of myself. However, even if I really had submissive fantasies, something I was still reluctant to fully admit, that didn't mean I was going to sacrifice my dreams and give up my education. After all, not all fantasies are meant to come true. Instead, I promised myself that I would show Sabrina that I could be strong and ambitious. 

But another thing worried me. Could Sabrina be right about Elmwood Academy being a place where the students were corrupted and changed into horrible people? I didn't want to believe it, but I was no longer so confident in my previous beliefs, especially as I had witnessed time and again the contempt with which the students had treated me since I had put on the maid's uniform. The situation left me utterly bewildered. Everything I knew felt upside down, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Yet, beneath the confusion, a spark of determination flickered. I wouldn't be swayed. My rightful place awaited, and I wouldn't rest until I took it back. 

I finally reached my room, a narrow space tucked away at the end of the maid's quarter. The hard cot beckoned me, promising a much-needed rest. But before collapsing onto the sheets, I paused for a moment, my hand on the door handle. There was something I had to do first. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't confront it now, it would only grow worse. With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I made my way to the reception desk, where Agnès, the receptionist, sat primly behind her ornate desk. The woman looked up at me with a cool, disapproving glance, her perfectly coiffed hair, sophisticated makeup and beautiful uniform a sharp contrast to my dishevelled appearance. "Yes, girl?" she said, her tone sharp. "What is it you need?"

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 12.

by Melissa

Part 12. The kiss. 

As I trudged through the rust-coloured landscape of Mars, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the place. I was Melissa Jones, a proud astronaut of the first manned mission to the Red planet. The Martian sky was a deep, endless red, dotted with clouds that seemed to shift and dance like ethereal creatures. The ground beneath my space suit's boots was a patchwork quilt of red rock and dust, criss-crossed by the tracks left by my rover. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whir of the suit's life-support systems and the faint hiss of dust kicked up by her boots. 

But something was wrong. I felt very sore. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The first week of the mission had been filled with exhausting work, and I'd been on edge since the moment I'd landed on the Red planet. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed myself too hard. I'd been given strict orders not to overexert myself, but the allure of exploring this alien world was too great to resist. 

I gasped as I suddenly jolted awake, my heart racing and every muscle in my body protesting. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing my spacesuit. I was Melissa Jones, but I wasn't an astronaut and this wasn't the vast expanse of Mars I'd been dreaming of for years. In fact, I was still clad in my scratchy maid's uniform from the day before. I was lying on a hard cot in a tiny room of the maid's quarter, the pale light of a single dim bulb casting eerie shadows across the cramped space. The air smelled stale and dusty, and my throat felt raw from the dryness. I sat up slowly, my head spinning, and rubbed at my eyes. This was just another day in the maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy. The same routine I'd been stuck in for a week now, forced to masquerade as a delinquent school maid at this prestigious boarding school where my life had been turned upside down by a cruel twist of fate, my identity stolen by my namesake, a girl from a disadvantaged background who had taken advantage of my misfortune to assume my rightful place. 

I groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of my tiny room. After having been punished the day before by having to move countless crates of wine, the pain in my back, shoulders, arms, legs, and even my neck was unbearable. I had never felt this sore in my life. As I sat up, my vision swam, and I had to clutch at my aching head. I couldn't possibly be as sore as I felt; it must be some sort of weird dream. I stood unsteadily, my legs wobbling, and made my way to the mirror. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 11.

by Melissa

Part 11. Discovering Elmwood Academy as a privileged student.

The morning sun peeked through the luxurious drapes, casting warm light across my room. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's realization still heavy on my chest. Was it all a dream? Would the other Melissa Jones - the redhead - arrive and shatter the illusion? But then, a knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

Opening the door, I was greeted by three girls, their faces alight with friendly smiles. Their polished uniforms and confident demeanours screamed "Elmwood Academy royalty." Yet, their voices held a warmth that surprised me. They introduced themselves as my next-door neighbours, privileged Elmwood students named Jessica, Emma and Olivia. Their voices held a warmth that surprised me. Used as I was to averted gazes and hushed whispers, this open friendliness felt surreal.

"Good morning, Melissa!" Jessica's voice rang out, bubbly and enthusiastic. "We saw you weren't out and about yet, so we thought we'd invite you to join us for breakfast in the lounge."

Emma, the quiet observer of the group, chimed in, "It's the most incredible spread, with everything you could imagine. And the company's pretty good too," she added with a wink.

Olivia, the fashionista of the trio, flashed a dazzling smile. "Come on, we wouldn't want you to miss out! Put on your uniform, and we'll show you the way."

The invitation hung in the air, laced with genuine kindness. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. Normally, the very idea of rich entitled girls would have made me bristle. But something about their genuine smiles and the warmth in their eyes disarmed me, and the thought of sharing a meal with these seemingly friendly girls, of experiencing another slice of this privileged world, was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sure, thank you."

Hesitantly, I donned the unfamiliar schoolgirl uniform again, the soft fabric still unfamiliar against my skin but whispering promises of a different life. Joining my new neighbours, I followed them through the corridors, their laughter echoing in the grand halls. As I walked alongside them, their chatter filled the hallway, a symphony of excitement and plans for the day. I listened, absorbing their world, their language, feeling like an outsider peering into a secret club. But their casual acceptance, their lack of judgment, offered a sliver of comfort.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 9.

by Melissa

Part 9. A setback and a punishment

My heart plummeted as the receptionist's words washed over me. The glimmer of hope I had clung to, the possibility that Maria's intervention could give me back my true identity, seemed to vanish in an instant. "You didn't send the letter?" I gasped in surprise.

The receptionist, her gaze now avoiding mine, nodded slowly. "No," she admitted. "I... I read it first, out of curiosity. And after what I read, I couldn't bring myself to send it."

"You read my letter?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I did. And frankly, Miss Jones," she continued, her voice laced with disappointment, "it painted a far from flattering picture of your actions towards Maria. Allowing her to be falsely accused of theft and then, but only after needing her help, offering her money as a kind of consolation... it doesn't speak well of your character."

Shame burned through me, hotter than all the stoves I'd been forced to clean since my arrival at Elmwood Academy. The receptionist's words mirrored the self-recriminations that had haunted me since realizing the gravity of my mistake. "I know," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I was scared and selfish. And until now, I didn't understand the true cost of my silence."

"Maybe you just deserve what's happening to you," she continued, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a firm conviction. "Perhaps this experience is a harsh lesson, one you sorely needed."

Story: The Job Interview. Part 6.

By Inanimate77

Despite being a bit out of sorts as Amy headed out of the house, she thankfully remembered to bring a small wheeled cart with her. Her first stop on the list was going to Whole Foods and without the cart, it would be nearly impossible to walk back with all of the groceries.

The residential streets were still quiet as she made her way down them. Amy was grateful that so few people were out and about. She felt very self conscious in her uniform. Although she had managed to convince her employer to leave the apron at home, Amy still wore the headpiece. The young maid had considered removing it, but had decided against it. A part of her was worried that Susan may check up on her in some way and find out. The risk of being discovered was not worth the reduced embarrassment from wearing it.

Despite the circumstances Amy found some pleasure from her morning walk.  The Summer sun began to peek through the trees lining the sidewalk, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the pavement.  Hints of scented flowers blooming throughout the neighborhoods mingled with the familiar aroma of freshly cut grass.  The more Amy immersed herself in the beauty of the day the less she seemed to think abou the discomfort of her uniform. 

Still she was well aware of her surroundings.  The young maid deftly maneuvered her wheeled cart around a corner, avoiding a group of chattering neighbors who were out for their morning stroll.  Amy felt a pang of embarrassment as she realized that they were eyeing her uniform curiously.  She quickened her pace, hoping to put some distance between herself and their prying eyes.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 8.

by Melissa 

Part 8. Acknowledging the wrongs I've done to Maria and begging for her forgiveness. 

With a mix of anticipation and apprehension, I returned to the reception area on the next day hoping for some news from Maria, my family's former maid. The receptionist, her face etched with concern, greeted me with a sombre expression. "I have some news about your letter, Miss Jones" she began, her voice laced with sympathy. "Maria received it and called me shortly after." 

My heart pounded with anticipation as I listened to the receptionist's update. However, my hopes were quickly dashed as she relayed Maria's reaction. "Maria doesn't believe you," the receptionist explained, her voice filled with disappointment. "She refuses to believe your story about being mistaken for a delinquent school maid and thinks you're pulling a cruel prank on her, seeking to exploit her trust and loyalty." 

"But I explained everything in the letter," I protested, my voice laced with desperation. "I told her about the mix-up and how I'm forced to impersonate the delinquent school maid." 

"I know, Miss Jones," the receptionist sympathized, her eyes filled with compassion. "I even tried to explain the situation to her, but she is unfamiliar with me and didn't take my word for it." 

My stomach churned with disappointment. Maria's distrust was a bitter pill to swallow, especially considering the close bond we once shared. The idea that she could doubt my character was a harsh blow, a stinging reminder of the rift that had formed between us during the events that led to her dismissal by my parents. 

"Maria also said that you must have a sick sense of humour," the receptionist continued, her tone laced with frustration. "She's still angry with you for what happened to her when she lost her job, and she doesn't trust you." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 7.

by Melissa

Part 7. A phone call from the judge.

As the phone rang in the staff room, Mrs. Henderson's heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread. The head maid knew who was calling – Judge Thompson, the stern and unforgiving woman who had sentenced Melissa Jones, the delinquent school maid, to community service at Elmwood Academy.

"Mrs. Henderson," Judge Thompson's voice boomed through the receiver, her sharp tone cutting through the silence, "I'm calling to seek an update on the progress of Melissa Jones, the delinquent girl I entrusted to your care at Elmwood Academy. I trust you've had ample time to evaluate her behaviour since her arrival."

Mrs. Henderson cleared her throat, her mind racing to recall the details of Melissa's behaviour. "Yes, Your Honour, absolutely" she began, her voice cautious, "Melissa has been assigned to various cleaning tasks and has consistently fulfilled them diligently."

"Really?" Judge Thompson's tone sharpened. "It's not like her to do that. What about her adherence to the rules and regulations of the academy?"

"She has generally followed the guidelines," Mrs. Henderson admitted, "but there is one particular aspect of her behaviour that concerns me."

"Enlighten me," Judge Thompson commanded.

Story: The Job Interview. Part 5.

by Inanimate77 

It had been a week since Amy had started working for Susan, and while the new maid had settled into a bit of a routine, she really hadn't gotten used to her role. After what had been a terrible first day, Amy had managed to redeem herself. However, the process of pleasing her new employer had nearly killed her. 

Since school was out of session, Amy had agreed to take on more hours. This meant that she was effectively working seven days a week. Susan had assured her that once Amy got the house in order, the workload would go down. Although the never-ending list of tasks had left her completely exhausted, there was a sense of peace and satisfaction that came with the monotony of the work. 

Each morning, the routine was exactly the same for Amy. She would awaken at precisely 5:30 AM, feeling a sense of exhaustion already creeping through her body. After a brief shower to wash away the remnants of sleep, she would sit down to a simple breakfast, fueling herself for the long day ahead. The next hour was spent meticulously ironing her uniform, taking great pride in ensuring every crease and fold was perfectly pressed. It had become almost therapeutic for her, this act of creating order out of chaos. 

As she got more accustomed to using the iron, Amy found ways to make the process more efficient. What used to take her hours now only took one. She hoped that eventually, she could shave off an extra 30 minutes and get some much-needed rest in the mornings.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 6.

by Melissa

Part 6. Writing to Maria. 

As the first rays of dawn pierced through the darkness, I reluctantly dragged myself out of my uncomfortable cot in the maid's quarters, my body protesting against the strenuous labour I had endured over the past few days. My limbs felt heavy and stiff, my muscles sore from endless hours of washing dishes, scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets. As I stood up, I felt a wave of despair.

Hoping for a miracle, I stumbled towards the nearest fingerprint scanner, my head pounding and my stomach churning. I placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner, but the answer was similar to the one of the previous day: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please report to the head maid for instructions." I was still trapped in the identity of my namesake, the delinquent school maid, and thus forced to live like a lowly servant to the elite of Elmwood Academy. I longed to reclaim my true identity, to escape the confines of this mistaken identity and return to the life I had envisioned for myself. But the evidence of my fingerprint match seemed irrefutable, leaving me with no clear path forward.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that clouded my mind, and forced myself to move. After a quick shower, I got dressed in the drab maid's uniform that now seemed to symbolize my fall from grace. The scratchy underwear and the starched maid's outfit felt stiff and abrasive against my skin, a stark contrast to the soft, flowing garments I was normally accustomed to. After adjusting my maid's cap and straightening my apron, I stood there motionless in my tatty uniform.

With a sigh, I glanced at the mirror. The harsh realities of my new life as a school maid had taken their toll on my physical appearance. My skin, once radiant with youth and vitality, was now pale and drawn, bearing the marks of exhaustion and constant strain. My once neatly styled hair was a tangled mess, resembling a bird's nest after a storm. And the dark circles under my eyes served as a constant reminder of the relentless demands of my work. I looked like a ghost of my former self, a casualty of the harsh realities of my new life. The uniform symbolizing my servitude felt like a second skin, a constant reminder of my diminished status. The starched fabric chafed against my skin, the faded colours a stark contrast to the vibrant hues I had once favoured. I also longed for the days when I could adorn myself with makeup, the colours and textures transforming my appearance and boosting my confidence. But those days seemed like a distant memory, a relic of a life I could no longer claim. My makeup, confiscated at my arrival, was a symbol of my lost identity, a reminder of the world I had been forced to leave behind. It was a small loss, perhaps, but it felt like a profound violation, a stripping away of my individuality. Without makeup, I felt exposed and vulnerable, my flaws laid bare for all to see. The reflection in the mirror was a harsh indictment of my altered circumstances, a constant reminder of my fall from grace.

With a jolt of determination, I shook off the remnants of my trance-like state and sprang into action. The realization of my predicament, my forced identity as a delinquent school maid, was a harsh reminder of the circumstances I found myself in. I had to act swiftly to rectify the situation, to prove my true identity as a student and escape the confines of this demeaning role. There was no time to waste. The longer I remained in this charade, the more difficult it would be to unravel.